


Twelve (formerly Hello Twelve, Hello Love)

by watyonameisgurl



Series: Twelve Verse [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Bathing issues, Because I Couldn't Resist, Child Soldiers, Codependency, Dehumanization, Disordered Eating, Dissociation, Enhanced Senses, Enhanced physical abilities, Food Issues, Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Harry is a freelance writer, Homophobic Language, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Kidnapping, Liam is an office assistant at an insurance company, Louis and Harry are just friends, Louis is an IT support technician, M/M, Memory Alteration, Mental Conditioning, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Multiple, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Build, You've been warned, Zayn and Liam were childhood best friends, Zayn goes by Twelve, Zayn is a trained assassin, and I'm probably already forgetting some, and a hacker in his spare time, and roommates, as in that's his name, burn so slow you could roast meat, dick co-workers, dick landlords, honestly there's like a million things I could tag for, memory wiping, niall is a bartender, non-existent social skills, secret government-funded programs, seriously the burn is so slow y'all, the rest of the boys are regular civilians, who hates his job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 45
Words: 201,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watyonameisgurl/pseuds/watyonameisgurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zayn comes back to him slowly…</p><p>When Liam and Zayn were 12, Zayn suddenly went missing in the middle of the night. With no leads, no evidence of a break-in, and no requests for ransom the police eventually concluded that Zayn simply ran away and they closed the case. His family never believed it and neither did Liam.</p><p>10 years later Liam gets held hostage during a bank heist only to find that one of the robbers is Zayn. But he doesn’t seem to recognize Liam or even his own name. Liam tries to track Zayn down on his own, hesitant to involve the police who in his experience have proved to be untrustworthy more often than not. But then Liam starts noticing strange things in his apartment. His bedroom door closed halfway when he’s sure he left it all the way open; the tv remote sitting slightly further to the left than where he usually leaves it; a stray hair on the floor, darker and shorter than his own. At first he assumes it’s just the other boys messing with him but the longer it goes on the more he starts to wonder if he might actually be going crazy. </p><p>He doesn’t realize until it’s too late that while he’s been busy searching for Zayn all this time, Zayn has already found him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by post-CAWS Stucky fics, which I’ve been reading entirely too much of lately because clearly I have no life, but anyways enjoy!
> 
> (Title formerly from the Glee song "Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love" which as of 10/21/17 has been changed/shortened to just Twelve)

_Liam_

Liam is in the middle of having the shittiest Tuesday in the history of Tuesdays when it happens.

            He’s been standing in line at the bank for almost an hour. The bank that he shouldn’t even need to be at in the first place but his direct deposit from work, which was supposed to be in his account by last Friday, somehow got screwed up. Which means he’s behind on his rent, which is just fan-fucking-tastic because his landlord already doesn’t trust him despite the fact he’s been an absolute model tenant up until now. If he had just dealt with this yesterday none of this would probably even be happening but it was just his luck that his boss chose yesterday of all days to make him work late so by the time he left the office the bank was already closed.

And even though he came straight here from work, the drive over, which normally wouldn’t have taken him more than 20 minutes, ended up taking almost 50 because some dickhead a few cars ahead of him decided it would be a good idea to run a red light and ended up getting into an accident, which backed up traffic for a good half an hour. Plus his phone is dead after he spent almost the entire drive either on hold or being passed around by the bank’s customer service only to be told that he’d have to physically come in to the bank to get it resolved. So now, not only is he bored out of his mind but he’s also soaked from head to toe because of course it started pouring on his way here and the nearest parking spot he could find was almost two blocks away. He’s seriously at his wit’s end, and to top it all off the guy in front of him smells like ass and cigarettes and he really doesn’t know how much more he can take.

He’s already counted all the paint chips on the ceiling three times and he’s getting to the point where he’s considering giving them names and backstories when the double doors to the bank burst open slamming the walls so hard that plumes of dust and paint debris rise up on both sides. A barrage of people in black Kevlar suits and black and silver masks come storming in, a few of them armed with huge guns, and everything turns into chaos. People start screaming and trying to run but there’s nowhere for them to go because the group with black masks has formed a wide arc around the room blocking off the path to the main doors while the four with guns and silver masks man the emergency exit. One of them shoots his gun into the ceiling blowing a huge hole right through Paint Chips 117 and 118 and everyone drops to the floor amidst shrieks and screams. Everyone except Liam, that is, who is frozen in shock and can’t seem to make his legs move.

“Get down,” Ass & Cigarettes Guy hisses at him from the floor. “They’re gonna shoot you if you don’t get down!”

Liam is very aware of just how much danger he’s in but he still can’t seem to make his legs, or any part of himself for that matter, move, which is not good because he needs to breathe and he can’t seem to get his body to do that either.

The man who shot his gun at the ceiling makes some sort of hand motion and two of the armed women standing next to him break off and start heading towards the door that leads to the bank’s vaults while the man steps forward with his gun now trained on Liam, leaving only one guy manning the emergency exit. He makes another hand motion and a guy from the black-masked crew steps forward, the others immediately shifting to fill in the gap in the arc while remaining evenly spaced apart, their movements almost robotic.

The two men are closing in on Liam now and despite the fact that Liam is scared shitless and 179% sure that he’s about to die he still can’t make himself move. The only helpful thought that his brain seems able to supply is that maybe if he passes out from oxygen loss first he won’t feel the pain of the gunshot.

The man with the gun who seems to be in charge steps up to him first and, with his gun still trained on Liam, the barrel now barely an arm’s length away from Liam’s face, he barks out an order over his shoulder in a gruff voice.

“Secure him. Then wait for my signal.”

The black-masked man from the arc steps forward without a word. Now that he’s closer Liam can see the man’s face more clearly and he realizes that what he thought was a mask isn’t actually a mask at all. Up close it looks more like a dog muzzle, covering the entire lower half of his face, from the bottom of his chin to just under his eyes. His eyes are cold and empty, almost lifeless, but there’s something familiar about them though, something that reminds Liam of…

“Zayn?” he gasps, his brain finally catching up with his body as he realizes he can breathe again. He looks at Zayn, waiting for some sort of response but there’s not even a flicker of recognition behind his eyes as he grabs Liam by the arm and slams him into the floor face first, yanking his arms behind his back. Liam coughs and sputters for air, trying to turn his face enough to get a proper breath in but Zayn grabs the back of his head and rams his face into the floor. There’s a sickening crack and a blossom of white-hot pain and then everything goes black.

*

When he comes to it’s to Ass & Cigarettes Guy shaking him awake.

“Hey! Wake up, kid, the police are here,” he rasps, blowing a wave of hot breath right into Liam’s face that makes him gag and very nearly vomit. The guy just pats him on the back as he coughs, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’s the one who caused the reaction in the first place. It definitely doesn’t help that Liam feels like his whole face has been split in half. He can feel his nose—which he’s pretty sure is probably broken—throbbing in time with his pulse, and his mouth tastes like copper.

Zayn, of course is nowhere to be found. According to Ass & Cigarettes—or AC as Liam’s taken to calling him in his head—the whole group was in and out in less than five minutes and left shortly after Liam blacked out, way before the police even arrived.

The first thing he sees when he steps outside is bright red flashing lights. It’s stopped raining and everyone that was in the bank is streaming out of the doors and huddling into small groups, talking and crying and hugging each other. There are four police cars, a fire truck, and three ambulances, blocking the entire street off and he’s immediately herded over to one of the ambulances by two concerned elderly women that he’s pretty sure were in line behind him before all of this happened. The paramedic that checks him over confirms that his nose _is_ in fact broken, but it’s a hairline fracture, which she says is fairly minor and shouldn’t take more than a few weeks to heal. She cleans all the blood off of his face and resets his nose—which for some inexplicable reason is about five times more painful than getting it broken was in the first place—bandages him up, hands him an ice pack, and then directs him to the two policemen standing off to the side of the ambulance just as a news station truck pulls up.

The police ask him all sorts of questions that he doesn’t know the answers to. _Were they a terrorist group? What did they want? Why did they attack you? How many of them were there? What kinds of guns were they using? Did any of them have a foreign accent? Any tattoos or identifying marks?_

He tries to answer their questions as best as he can and briefly considers telling them about Zayn but then thinks better of it. The last thing he needs right now is for the police to start thinking he’s somehow involved in what happened. He’s seen How To Make a Murderer. The less he pretends to know, the better, so he lies, sort of.

“The assailant who attacked you, can you describe what he looked like?”

“Um, well, like I said before, he was wearing a mask—a sort of muzzle thing, like the kind people put on their dogs, and I couldn’t really his face clearly.”

“But you were able to see his eyes and his hair, correct? Could you tell what his ethnicity was? Was he white or black, Middle Eastern perhaps…?”

Liam knows what he’s implying, that if it’s a terrorist organization, they must be Middle Eastern because it’s so inconceivable that anyone else of any other race or nationality could be a terrorist. But he masks his disdain and schools his face into one of confusion.

“Everything’s still pretty fuzzy. He had black hair I think…or maybe it was brown. And he was sort of tan…although that might have just been the bad lighting…sorry, I just don’t really remember very well…”

“And what about the ones with the guns and silver masks? Did any of them say anything to you?”

“Not to me, no. One of the silver-masked ones—he, um…he seemed like he was sort of in charge. He was the one that ordered the guy in the muzzle to knock me out.”

“Some of the other witnesses mentioned that you asked the assailant something just before he knocked you out…can you tell us what you said to him?”

“Sorry, I, um…I don’t really remember.”

“Well, is there anything else, any other details that you can recall that might help us in our investigation?”

Liam sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I remember some of the ones in the muzzles…they looked pretty young…like—like kids. There was one girl that looked like she couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen. Most of the others were older, but they were all sort of small…skinny, I mean.”

“Even the assailant who attacked you?”

“Yeah,” Liam says softly. He doesn’t think that’s revealing too much, at least he hopes not.

The cops seem satisfied enough with his answers though. One scribbles down a few more notes into his notepad, while the other pulls a card out of his front pocket and says, “Alright, thanks for your time. If you remember anything or if you think of anything else that might help with the investigation—anything at all—you can call this number. In the meantime just make sure to stay in the area in case we need to ask you any more questions.”

“Sure thing,” Liam says, tucking the card into his back pocket.

Most of the crowd has cleared away by now, only two police cars and one ambulance remaining, along with the news crew who are still interviewing one of the bank tellers. Liam makes his way back over to the sidewalk, passing by AC who’s still being questioned by the cops but waves to Liam as he makes his way down the block. When he finally makes it back to his car he doesn’t even have it in him to be upset about the parking ticket tucked in his windshield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If at any point there’s anything that anyone feels should be tagged but isn’t/that I forgot please let me know! Also I apologize for the lack of Britishisms, I am American and although normally I would have at least attempted to make it sound more British since I feel like it reflects the boys’ lives more accurately, honestly I just didn’t have the energy this time to essentially rethink everything I was writing as I was writing it (or to thoroughly research the UK banking system so I apologize if any of the events described in the bank heist scene don’t actually line up with how things work in the British banking system/direct deposit system in reality). If anyone reading this is interested in Brit-picking let me know!
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

_Zayn_

Twelve feels the truck rumble over uneven patches in the road as they make their way back to base. The heist was successful. The mission was completed within the allotted time parameters with no civilian casualties just as they were ordered. It is likely that they will be rewarded when they return.

Twenty-two sits across from him in the back of the truck; he is staring at Twelve just as he has been since shortly after they entered. Twelve does not know why. Just before entering the truck, Twenty-two removed his mask and called into the base to report their mission as a success and to notify the Handlers that the footage from his eye cams was currently being uploaded to the base servers as is protocol. Twelve knows because he heard him make the report. He also knows that shortly after pulling off from the bank Twenty-two received a message on his comms. He knows this because he saw Twenty-two’s gaze drop to the floor as it always does when he receives a message. That is when the staring began.

Twelve feels the familiar jerk of the truck as it goes over the slight dip in the path leading up to the base. The dip lies just outside the electrified fence enclosing the bunker and the surrounding greenery that make up the base, which means that they will arrive at the doors of the bunker in approximately two minutes, then wait approximately 30 seconds for Twenty-three and Twenty-four to park and open the doors to the truck.

When the doors to the truck open they all stand and exit in two single file lines, evenly spaced apart. Hovering near the bunker doors, just a few feet behind where Twenty-three and Twenty-four stand holding the truck doors open, Twelve notices a Handler. It is unusual for the Alpha Team to be greeted by a Handler upon returning from a mission. It is standard protocol for the Omega Team after every mission, and occasionally the Delta Team only if the mission was unsuccessful or did not go as planned, but Twelve has not been a member of either of those teams for years. For a Handler to greet the Beta or Alpha Teams upon return is unheard of. Something is wrong, but Twelve does not know what.

Once everyone is out of the truck and lined up, Twenty-two, who has not stopped staring at him even upon exiting and lining up, says, “Twelve, the Director has requested to see you immediately.”

This is also unusual. Individual meetings with the Director are not uncommon but they are never held immediately after a mission. They usually occur during ranking assessments, but the next ranking period is not for another six months, not that that applies to him anymore anyway.

He moves to step out of line but before he can go any further the Handler—Handler F—comes forward, grabbing him by the arm, something that has not needed to be done to him since he was on Omega Team. He feels all of the team’s eyes on him as the Handler herds him through the bunker doors and he wonders what he has done wrong.

When they reach the doors to the Director’s office Handler F removes his muzzle, then opens the doors and pushes him forward into the middle of the room. The Director is sitting at his desk, hands folded together in front of him. Twelve has not been called to a meeting with the Director in some time though he cannot recall specifically how long it has been. His memory sometimes fails him when he gets close to his procedure time but he suspects it has been at least two years, possibly three.

The Director appears much older than the last time he saw him. The skin on his face and hands is the same blotchy pink that it always has been, but is littered now with spots of brown where there were only a few before. His hair, which used to be a light grey, speckled with stray dark hairs, is now completely white and starting to thin. His elevated heart rate, labored breathing, and pallid skin suggest that he may be ill, but it is also possible that it is simply from old age. In any case it is clear that he is not the man he was a few years ago, and certainly not the man he was when Twelve first woke up in the bunker all those years ago.

“Hello, Twelve,” he says, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because I have done something wrong, Director.”

The Director smiles and lets out a soft wheezing sound which Twelve surmises was intended to be a laugh.

“Not exactly. Though I suppose given the circumstances that is an appropriate conclusion to make. I’m sure this must seem unusual to you, being called upon outside of ranking assessments, especially considering the fact that you have had no need to participate in the official ranking assessments for quite some time. Four years, is it? Since your last official ranking assessment?”

“Yes, Director.”

“And what has it been? About two and a half since the…unofficial assessments?”

“That sounds correct, Director.”

“’Sounds correct’? Are you saying you’re unsure, Twelve?”

“I apologize, Director. My memory appears to be failing me.”

The Director sighs, shaking his head. “It’s alright, simply a side effect of the procedures. It is to be expected from time to time, although I had hoped you would eventually surpass it. After all,” he smiles again, “you have surpassed almost all of your cohorts but for a few in every other aspect. Though I suppose it may have been too overzealous of me to hope that it might be possible for you to overcome it…wishful thinking on my part. When are you due for your next procedure?”

“May 18th, Director.”

“Two months?” he shakes his head, frowning. “No, that won’t do. We can’t risk waiting until then and having you glitching out during a mission. I’ll have the Handlers move your appointment up to this Friday.” He pauses, picking up the tablet on his desk and starting to type. “In the meantime,” he continues, “if you experience any other lapses in your memory you’re to report it to Handler A and Handler A only, understood?”

“Yes, Director.”

He finishes typing, then taps the screen a few more times and slides the tablet across the desk towards Twelve. On the screen is paused video footage from the bank; the side of Twelve’s face is visible along with the head and torso of the uncooperative civilian from the bank.

“Now that that’s settled we can get to the heart of the matter,” he says, folding his hands together on the desk and leaning slightly forward again. “Tell me what happened during the mission today.”

Twelve does not understand why the Director is asking him this when he has surely already seen the footage from Twenty-two’s eye cams but he knows not to question the Director.

“The mission was successful, Director. Six overrode the bank’s security system prior to entry. Twenty-three and Twenty-four secured the items you requested. The building sustained minimal damage. Most of the civilians were cooperative, though one civilian was wounded in order to ensure that he complied. There were no civilian casualties. We retrieved the items and exited the premises within approximately four and half minutes of entering and did not encounter the police.”

“The civilian you wounded, what can you tell me about him?”

“White, 5’10,” approximately 160 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, facial hair, no visible scars but multiple tattoos on his arms partially visible through his wet shirt. Based on his attire, he appeared to have come to the bank either from work or from a formal affair.”

“And do you remember what he said to you just before you subdued him?”

“Yes, Director.”

“Tell me.”

“It was a word I did not recognize, Director. _Zayn_.”

The Director nods, beckoning him forward, and taps the tablet screen. The footage begins to play and Twelve hears Twenty-two order him to secure the civilian and wait for his signal. He watches himself step forward, a strange look coming over the civilian’s face as he does. He hears the civilian say the word, Zayn, in a questioning tone. The Director pauses the footage again. He looks up at Twelve, staring at him silently for a moment. He appears to be searching his face for something but Twelve is unsure what.

“Do you recognize this facial expression? Do you know what it means?” the Director says, nodding his head toward the tablet screen.

“No, Director.”

The Director sighs. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t, since you haven’t been trained for it. It’s an expression people use when they see something or someone that appears familiar to them. Do you see why that could be problematic?”

“I do not understand, Director.”

He shakes his head. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but if you’re to be successful on this next mission, as well as future missions, you need to understand the full extent of the situation and what it means, not only for you but for the future of the entire program. The man in the bank, you…reminded him of someone. Probably someone he knew a long time ago. And the… _word_ that he used was meant to elicit a specific reaction out of you, similar to the code words we sometimes use here at the base with you and the other operatives. It didn’t work, of course, because you’re not who he thinks you are, but do you understand why I’m telling you this? Do you understand why him thinking that you’re someone you’re not could cause problems for the program as a whole?”

“Yes, Director.”

The entire program is built on the foundation that their operations remain covert. Outside the base, they act as ghosts, never showing their whole faces, never staying in one place for too long, never speaking—with the exception of a few, like Twenty-two, that have advanced far enough in the program to receive voice modulators among other modifications—and leaving minimal to no evidence behind that might be traced back to the program or to the base. If the man in the bank believes Twelve to be someone else, someone that he thinks he knows, he may try to find Twelve either on his own or with the help of the authorities, running the risk of exposing the entire program. It is unlikely that he would be successful in any case but he poses a threat, a minor one, but still a threat nonetheless. The Director will most likely send someone to neutralize him within the next few days.

“Now that you understand the depth of the situation, we can move on to your next mission. Starting Friday you are to monitor the man from the bank and report back regularly on his activity. You’ll be paired with Handler A—“

Twelve shifts and the Director eyes him before continuing, “…which I know is a switch from your usual Handler for solo missions, but Handler A knows that city better than Handler D and the mission will go much smoother without us having to worry about a Handler getting lost or screwing up rendezvous. Your procedure has been rescheduled for Friday at 0800 hours, so you will leave for your mission at 1200 hours. You’ll be staying out of the field until then so I suggest you use your extra time in the bunker to study the layout of the city in detail. As of this moment you are to cease all communication with Handler D until further notice unless instructed otherwise by myself or Handler A, understood?”

“Yes, Director.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

Twelve exits the office and makes his way back to his team’s bunks. He finds it strange that the Director only wants him to monitor the man when he could prove to be a threat to the entire program. But it is a dangerous line of thinking to start questioning the Director and even though he would never voice his thoughts aloud, he decides to put it out of his mind. He focuses instead on what the Alpha Team’s reward might be, and wonders if he will still receive a reward after returning so late.

When he reaches the hallway that leads to Alpha Team’s bunks he finds approximately half of the team still in line just outside the door. He is not too late. He gets in line behind Eight and waits. Approximately six minutes pass before he sees the other half of the team rounding the corner, single file with Twenty-two in the lead. Handlers A and D are walking alongside them and when Handler D sees Twelve he smiles.

Handler D is different than the other Handlers. He smiles and laughs, and sometimes speaks to Twelve without using direct questions or orders, and Twelve finds it fascinating though he is never sure how he is supposed to respond since he has never been addressed this way by anyone else.

“Hey, Twelve,” Handler D says when he’s approximately ten feet away. “Glad you made it back from the Director’s office in time, good job on the mission!”

Twelve keeps his gaze straight ahead and does not turn to look at him. As he watches the first half of the team head in to their bunks Handler D comes closer to him.

“Twelve? Are you okay?”

Twelve does not respond even though it is a direct question and Handler A snorts as he walks up next to Handler D, entering Twelve’s field of peripheral vision.

“He’s _my_ operative now,” Handler A says, smirking. “Looks like you’ll have to find yourself a new bitch.”

Handler D gets an expression on his face that he gets often when Handler A is around though Twelve is unsure of what it means.

“You’re one to talk. Bet you wouldn’t be quite so chatty if the Director found out what you do with Twenty-two after hours when his eye cams are deactivated. When visitors request time with the operatives they _pay_ the Director for it. How do you think he would feel if he found out one of his employees was taking advantage of an operative behind his back for free?”

Handler A does not respond and Handler D glances at Twelve once more, then heads to the front of the line next to where Twenty-four is standing and beckons to the group to follow him. He stops when they reach the door to Alpha Team’s feeding room and looks at Handler A.

“From now on,” Handler A announces, “I’ll be the one choosing your rewards for successful missions. Director’s orders. Your reward today is supplemental feeding time.”

Supplemental feeding time seems a rather strange reward. Normally they have feeding time at 0700 hours and are given sufficient enough nutrients to last them the full twenty-four hours until the next feeding time. Rewarding them with extra feeding time, especially when they do not have any other missions to complete today, seems like an unnecessary waste of resources. He wonders why Handler D, who had previously been the one to choose their rewards and, as far as Twelve knows, never wasted resources in the process, is suddenly being displaced.

Handler D has worked at the base for five years, three and a half years longer than Handler A and is therefore more familiar with the program’s protocols and the limits of the program’s resources. He has been Twelve’s Handler on solo missions for four years, replacing the previous Handler D who disappeared from the base for reasons unknown to Twelve. Handler A, who replaced the previous Handler A after he was terminated during a mission, has only been at the base for a year and eight months. He has only been cleared to accompany operatives on solo missions for approximately eight months after completing the first year of training that is standard for all Handlers.

Twelve understands the Director’s reasoning behind assigning him to Handler A for his next solo mission, even though it is unusual for operatives to be reassigned while their previous Handler is still alive. He does not understand, however, why the Director would allow a Handler who does not yet seem to have a full understanding of the program’s limited resources or of the importance of the program’s conservation protocols, to make decisions regarding the team’s rewards. But Twelve knows that he should not be thinking these things and so he turns his attention to Handler D, who is opening the feeding room door, and follows Eight inside.

He goes to stand by his assigned cot, which sits in the right corner at the front of the room directly adjacent to one of the three windows lining the wall. When Handler A gives the order for them to lie down, they all do so in unison and Twelve watches the Nurse as she stops at the first two cots and then makes her way to his. He is always third. When she gets to him he holds his arm out. He feels the familiar press of her thumb over his forearm as she feels for the subcutaneous hub which connects to the catheter that sits in his vein for feeding. She rubs a wipe over his forearm to sterilize the injection site and he watches as she slowly inserts the needle into his skin. Then she squeezes the IV bag lightly and pauses, watching the formula to ensure that it makes its way through the IV tube and into his arm without any complications. When she is satisfied that everything is running as it should she moves on to the next cot, turning her back to Twelve and he turns toward the window and watches the clouds drift across the sky just as he always does during feeding time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is confused about Liam’s lack of hand tattoos in this fic I decided it would be better for him not to have hand tattoos because, you know, getting hired (and staying hired) is important and also he works at an insurance company so yeah hand tattoos would probably be no bueno…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos guys, I really appreciate them! I seriously didn't think very many people were even going to read this fic much less comment on it and when I saw how many comments I got after just one day I literally did a little arm flail/happy dance. As promised, here is the 3rd chapter (the 4th chapter will be coming very soon, possibly later tonight at the earliest but definitely by tomorrow at the latest)...anyways, enjoy! :)

_Liam_

The bank is closed for the rest of the week, which means Liam has to work overtime on Wednesday and Thursday so he can convince his boss to let him off an hour early (again) on Friday to make it across town to the other branch before it closes. The direct deposit issue ends up taking all of two minutes to fix because the Powers That Be apparently have it out for him and must really enjoy watching him suffer.

By the time Liam gets back to his apartment all he wants to do is curl up on his couch with some tea and watch Netflix for the rest of the night, but of course Louis, who has a history of impeccably bad timing, calls him about two minutes after he gets in the door to invite Liam out for drinks.

“Louis, this really isn’t a good time. It’s been a really shitty week and I’m in a really shitty mood and I don’t wanna bring you guys down with me.”

“That’s precisely why you should come have drinks with us! Once we get a few drinks in you, you’ll forget all about your Week From Hell, cheer you right up! I am a Master of Cheering People Up, you know.”

Liam rolls his eyes.

“I can practically hear you rolling your eyes through the phone. Doubt my powers all you want, Liam, but they are real. Harry can attest to them.”

Liam opens his mouth to protest, but Louis interrupts him.

“And don’t you dare say Harry doesn’t count because I have you on speakerphone and the last thing we need is an upset Harry on top of an upset Liam. I can handle one of you, but I can’t take both.”

“ _Lou_ ,” Liam hears Harry admonish in the background.

“What? It’s true! Anyways, I, King Louis, hereby order you, commoner Liam Payne, to come out to drinks with us. Otherwise we’ll just storm your apartment and stay there all night. Your choice.”

Liam knows they will because they’ve done it on numerous occasions before. At least if he agrees to go out with them, it’ll only be for a few hours and then he can come back and curl up with his and tea and Netflix for the rest of the weekend. He sighs, shaking his head.

“For the millionth time Louis, I gave you that extra key to be used in emergencies only.”

“Those were emergencies! You were in dire need of drinks and socialization with people other than your boring, snooty co-workers. I will not apologize for saving you from drowning in your own pit of despair.”

“I was not in despair, Louis. I know you might find it hard to believe but some of us actually enjoy having some time to ourselves once in a while.”

“Yes, they’re called weirdos and people don’t like them. You should be thanking me for saving you from becoming one. So, are you coming out or not?”

“If I say yes, will you promise to leave me alone for the rest of the weekend?”

“Maybe…no promises though.”

“Don’t worry, Li, I’ll make sure to keep him on a leash for the weekend,” Harry chimes in.

Louis squawks. “You will do no such thing, Harold!”

There’s a brief debate about who wears the pants in the household that ends up morphing into who makes more money vs. who does more around the house “because housework is just as important and holds just as much value as any other work, Lou” and Liam can feel an argument brewing that he doesn’t have the energy for, so he clears his throat and says loudly, “Alright, fine, I’ll go.”

“Great!” Louis pipes, as if he wasn’t just engaged in a heated argument. “Drinks on Niall, see you tonight!”

When Liam arrives at the pub he immediately spots Louis and Harry sitting in their usual stools right in front of the center of the counter. Harry spots him first, waving him over and Liam sits down in the empty stool next to Louis, mumbling a thanks as Niall pours him a beer and slides it across the counter to him.

“So,” Niall says, smiling at him, “how does it feel?”

“What?”

“Being famous.”

Harry and Louis snicker and Liam rolls his eyes. The bank incident had been all over the six o’clock news on Tuesday and Louis had called Liam while he was still on his way home from the bank saying that he, Harry, and Niall—who had called them from the pub in the first place to tell them to turn on the news—had recognized the back of Liam’s head in the background and demanded to know what had happened. Liam told them pretty much the same things he’d told the police, again leaving out the fact that he’d recognized Zayn. He figured if the police came snooping around at any point or felt the need to question his friends for any reason at least his story would seem consistent. He’s probably a little paranoid, but then again so are a lot of people these days. Besides, he isn’t exactly sure how one broaches the topic of explaining to their current best friends that their childhood best friend might be part of some super creepy underground terrorist organization.

“Oh, you know,” Liam answers in an exaggeratedly casual tone, “paps following me around everywhere, hounding me, trying to get shots of the back of my head and ask my hair for a statement.”

Niall laughs loudly and it catches the attention of an older man sitting at the end of the counter whose attention was previously on the young woman in a red dress sitting next to him. He waves Niall over so he can order more drinks for the two of them and Liam turns to Louis just as Louis claps him on the shoulder.

“Well, Liam, old pal, you look like shit. But what else is new?”

Liam levels a glare at Louis. His nose is still all bandaged up from where it was broken, and while the bruises on the skin under his eyes have faded slightly over the last few days, they’re still fairly visible. On the plus side, it doesn’t hurt as much to breathe as it did that the first night, but still, he’s the one that has to look himself in the mirror everyday. He really doesn’t need to be reminded of just how terrible he looks right now.

“Fuck you, too, Louis,” he mutters.

“Oh, come on, Lou, leave him alone,” Harry chimes in. “He’s had a bad enough week as it is.”

“Alright, alright, fine. No more jokes about the sad state of Liam’s face, I promise. Besides, I have an announcement.” He pauses to finish off his beer and Niall returns just in time to pour him a refill.

“Ace timing,” Harry says and Niall grins.

“The luck o’ the Irish!” He says proudly, refilling Harry’s glass.

“Doesn’t exist,” Louis protests.

“Does too! How else do you explain people randomly giving me things for free?”

“That only happened like twice, and the second time doesn’t even really count because that barista girl clearly had a crush on you.”

Niall goes bright red but doesn’t say anything in response and Harry shakes his head. “Must you always be so rude, Lou?”

“Have you _met_ me?”

Before they can start arguing like the old married couple they are, Liam intervenes, “Louis, didn’t you say you had an announcement?”

“What? Oh, right, yes!” He sits up in his stool and puffs his chest out proudly before continuing, “As of today, you all are looking at the new office manager for the Nerd Squad’s Main Street location.”

The Nerd Squad is basically a cheap rip-off of the Geek Squad that offers the same services for a fraction of the price. Liam isn’t sure how the company hasn’t gotten sued or something yet but it’s possible that they’re still small-scale enough that they’re not on the Geek Squad’s radar yet. Alternatively, it’s also possible that the Geek Squad just doesn’t care.

Liam raises his glass in a toast and smiles. “That’s great, Louis, I’m really happy for you!”

Harry and Niall follow suit, Niall grabbing an empty glass left behind on the counter by another patron, and they all raise their glasses and clink them together. Liam, Harry, and Louis all take a swig of their drinks while Niall mimes the action, holding the empty glass half a foot away from his mouth.

The rest of the night goes pretty much the same as it always does. Liam complains about how much he hates his job, Harry and Louis get into three more arguments, and Niall just keeps serving them drinks and laughing at them all. When they decide to call it a night Liam pulls out his wallet.

Louis freely takes advantage of Niall’s offers for free drinks and has managed to somehow convince Harry to follow suit. But even though Liam knows that between tips and his regular salary working at such a high-end pub, Niall makes more than enough money to cover the difference on his own, Liam always feels guilty and ends up paying Niall back at the end of the night. He goes to hand Niall the money to cover his drinks expecting the usual protesting and joking back and forth that follows, but Niall is all seriousness when he looks at Liam.

“No,” he says, in the most authoritative tone Liam has ever heard him use, as he pushes Liam’s hand back and looks him in the eyes. “Seriously, Liam, this one’s on me. You deserve it.”

Liam sighs dejectedly but puts the money back in his wallet and thanks Niall, who just dismisses him. “No need to thank me, like I said, you deserve it. Now go home and be a hermit and binge watch Netflix already, I’ve got customers waiting.”

Liam laughs because the pub is almost empty at this point but he waves to Niall on his way out the door, Harry and Louis calling out their goodbyes not far behind him. It’s a lot cooler outside than it was earlier but not enough to feel uncomfortable and the cool air feels nice on his flushed skin. He steps up to the curb and hails a cab, watching Louis do the same for him and Harry.

When he gets home there’s a note on his door from his landlord:

Got your payment.

This is your second strike and you know what happens after you get the third so don’t be late on your rent again.

-Jerry

Liam doesn’t even know what his first strike was. He balls up the note and throws it in the trash once he gets inside, then changes into sweats and a t-shirt and heads straight to bed. He tries to sleep but he can’t stop thinking about Zayn. Work’s been doing a pretty good job of keeping Liam’s mind occupied up to this point but it’s getting increasingly harder to keep his mind off it at night when he’s lying in bed waiting for sleep to come. He wonders what could’ve happened to Zayn in the years that he’s been gone that he wouldn’t even recognize his own name. He also keeps wondering if he should try to contact Zayn’s family. After all, they deserve to know that their son isn’t dead or locked away in some creepy old man’s basement somewhere. Not that whatever Zayn’s involved in is probably much better, but still, they have a right to know that he’s alive after over ten years of believing that he might’ve been kidnapped or lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

After an hour of tossing and turning he decides to get up and start googling, but that gets him absolutely nowhere because he gets about 450,000 hits on Trisha Malik and 635,000 on Yaser Malik. And it’s next to impossible trying to sift through the endless amounts of Facebook and LinkedIn profiles full of grainy cell phone pictures or no pictures at all and track down phone numbers for the ones that seem like they might fit. After a couple of hours of searching he’s exhausted from staring at the screen for so long and he saves the Word doc where he’d started making a list of phone numbers to try calling in the morning and heads back to bed. This time he falls asleep almost right away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested here are my more detailed notes on the boys' jobs:
> 
> Liam - office assistant at an insurance company (not what he wants to do/he hates it; wanted to go into social work but that was the only job he could get as a recent college grad w/o any work experience)  
> Harry - freelance writer; writes articles for an online interior design/home and garden-type magazine  
> Niall - bartender (saving up to open his own bar)  
> Louis - IT support technician; part-time hacker
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is chapter 4!

_Zayn_

On the morning that Twelve is to begin his solo mission, he undergoes his procedure. His feeding time is rescheduled to 0645 hours and Handler C comes to wake him up and escort him to the feeding room. After his allotted hour of feeding time is complete the Nurse removes his IV and he waits approximately thirteen minutes for one of the Handlers to come get him. He is escorted to the Procedure Room at 0758 hours by Handler A. Once inside, he gets undressed, leaving on only his undergarments, and lays down on the metal table in the middle of the room to wait for the Doctor. He stares at the ceiling as he waits, unsure of how much time passes before the Doctor finally enters. Often in the moments just before his procedure begins his mind drifts and he loses track of time, which is a rare occurrence for him, but seems to be something he cannot control despite his many efforts. His heart rate and breathing are slightly elevated, but he knows he will be punished if he is caught showing any kind of reaction before the procedure begins so he tries his best to conceal it enough that it will not warrant unnecessary attention from the Doctor as he secures the first leather strap over Twelve’s head and then the others over his chest, wrists, and ankles.

He hears the familiar whirring sound as the Doctor starts the machine and then there is nothing but a bright white light and immense pain starting in his head and spreading all across his body down to the tips of his fingers and toes. He feels his body contorting, pushing against the restraints, and hears the distant echo of his own screams but he is far away. He is in the white light where it is peaceful and there is no pain.

*

When it is over he returns to the present where the Doctor is unstrapping him. The whirring of the machine has stopped as have his screams and the only sound in the room now is the clink of the buckles as the straps are undone. The procedure always takes approximately two hours so he estimates that it is about 1000 hours now. They are usually allotted one to two hours of recovery time depending on the state of their vitals after the procedure and Twelve lays on the table, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat and still shivering involuntarily, as he waits for the Doctor to finish checking him over.

“Your vitals are fairly stable,” the Doctor says, “although your heart rate is slightly more elevated than it usually is after procedures. I suppose that is to be expected, however, since I increased the voltage slightly this time around. You’ll have an hour and a half of recovery time and then I’ll be back to check your vitals again.”

He exits the room and Twelve feels his breathing finally begin to even out. He has not needed more than an hour of recovery time for many years and was unsure of whether or not he would be punished. There are no more gaps in his memory now and he remembers all of his past meetings with the Director, as well as all of his time in the bunker starting from the day he first woke up, with perfect clarity. To pass the time he stares at each of the room’s four walls for approximately fifteen minutes, just as he usually does during recovery time, and then to make up for the extra thirty minutes he stares at the door for fifteen and then the ceiling for another sixteen.

The Doctor enters again just as Twelve hits the seventeen-minute mark of staring at the ceiling. The shivering has finally stopped and he checks Twelve’s vitals once more, announces that everything appears normal, and then dismisses him. When Twelve stands his legs are weak and fail to support his full weight at first. He has not experienced this side effect in quite some time and is momentarily caught off guard, quickly grabbing for the table to get his bearings as the Doctor stands a few feet away watching him. Twelve stands still for a few moments waiting for the numbness in his legs to subside, and then takes an experimental step away from the table. Everything appears to be back to normal and he picks up his clothes and makes his way toward the exit, stepping into the hallway where Handler A is waiting for him.

He leads Twelve to the shower rooms where a Nurse takes his clothes. She puts them aside and waits as Twelve removes his undergarments, and then she bathes him. When he returns to the hallway, fully dressed in clean clothes, Handler A is waiting for him with Twelve’s muzzle in hand. Handler A looks at his watch.

“It’s only 11:42,” he says, smirking. “Looks like we’ve got some time to kill.”

He leads Twelve to one of the supply closets, closing the door behind him and turning on the light once they are both inside.

“Come on, operative. Time to _earn your keep_.”

Twelve drops to his knees immediately and begins to undo Handler A’s belt buckle, Handler A chuckles. “God, you guys go down _so_ easy with the code words.”

Twelve takes Handler A’s cock into his mouth and Handler A groans, weaving the fingers of his right hand into the hair at the base of Twelve’s neck. He bobs his head back and forth, the head of Handler A’s cock hitting the back of his throat each time he surges forward.

“ _Damn_ , you’re good. Guess this is why you’re everyone’s favorite, huh?”

He is unable to answer that he does not know, as his mouth is occupied, but Handler A does not seem to care.

“I could never figure it out, you know, why the Director and Handler D like you so much. Even the Nurses and some of the other Handlers—they’re always talking about you, how you’re so _smart_ and you’re so _different_ and how the Director has _special plans_ for you. And the damn visitors are always requesting you, there’s even rumors that they pay in the thousands for you. Bet it’s true, isn’t it?”

He does not know the answer to this either. Operatives are not allowed to know the details of precisely how much visitors pay for time with them, but again Handler A does not seem to care about the answer.

“I get it now, though. Bet that’s why the Director likes to hold all those private meetings with you guys. Guess he just couldn’t wait another six months to get his time in with you.”

Handler A chuckles and then groans again, his hand tightening in Twelve’s hair. “Shit, slow down, wanna make this last…yeah, that’s good. _Fuck_.”

Twelve continues as instructed until Handler A’s semen spills in his mouth and then Twelve buttons his pants back up and stands, waiting as Handler A tucks his shirt back in, the light glinting off the metal band on the ring finger of his right hand as he flicks the light switch off. Once they are back out in the hallway Handler A looks at his watch again.

“11:58,” he reads. “Just in time.”

He reaches into his back pocket where he had stashed Twelve’s muzzle and hands it to him just as they reach the bunker doors. Twelve puts it on, making sure it is secure, and then follows Handler A out the doors. Handler C is standing outside smoking a cigarette and Handler A glances at him, then shuts and secures the doors behind them. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket, pressing a button on one of them. Twelve hears the click of car doors unlocking and Handler A orders him to wait in the car.

He walks down the lot passing the line of white trucks that are used for team missions until he gets to the black cars that are reserved for solo missions, stopping at the car he heard the click come from. He gets in the passenger seat, noticing as he puts on his seat belt that the black sticker with the white figure shaped like a “U”—which sits in the windows of all the solo mission cars—is peeling. He watches Handler A through the windshield, he is talking to Handler C and he appears to be angry while Handler C appears to be indifferent. Normally he would still be able to hear them but the car has soundproof windows, so Twelve reads their lips to discern what is being said.

“—Handler D fucking undermining me all the time in front of the operatives. You need to get your _friend_ under control. Things are gonna be different around here now that I’m in charge and if you and D can’t get your shit together and accept that then, who knows? You might just wake up one day and find yourselves ‘fired’…and you know what happens when Handlers get fired, don’t you? They get dead.”

Handler C looks at Handler A and flicks ash at him from his cigarette. “Stop acting like you run shit, A. You haven’t even been here two years. Everyone knows you only got promoted because you’re fucking the Director’s granddaughter. Once she figures out that you’re a two-faced dick who likes sleeping with boys that are basically slaves she’ll divorce your ass so fast you won’t even know what hit you. Piece of advice—since you’re clearly too stupid to work this out on your own—it’s probably not a good idea to threaten the only two people who know how to deactivate Twenty-two’s eye cams. Who knows? You might just come home one day to find that footage recorded while you thought his cams were off has been sent to your lovely wife.”

Handler A crosses his arms and his eyes narrow, but he does not say anything in response and Handler C drops his cigarette, crushing it under his boot, and goes back inside the bunker. Handler A walks the twenty-five feet to the car and gets in the driver’s side. Twelve is still looking out the windshield, watching the clouds drift by and Handler A says, “The fuck are you looking at?”

“The sky.”

Handler A shakes his head as he starts the car and pulls out of the lot. “Fucking retard.”

*

The drive takes approximately an hour and a half and they arrive at their destination at 1334 hours.

“Alright, your target’s name is Liam James Payne. According to the Director you already know what he looks like so we can skip the whole description thing. That’s his apartment building, there,” he says pointing to the eight-story brick building that sits twenty-eight feet ahead of them.

“He’s in 401 which faces this side—it’s the second one from the right—so you’ll be surveilling him from this building.” He points to the grey concrete building they’re currently parked in front of which appears abandoned and stands five stories high, providing Twelve with a perfect vantage point of the man’s—Liam’s—apartment from the roof. Some of the other operatives prefer to scope out targets from inside but he prefers the outside—roofs and trees, high cliffs or hills. Open spaces provide easier escape routes, plus he is more relaxed when he is able to see the sky.

“He works from 8:30 to 5:00 at an insurance company,” Handler A continues as he pulls off from the curb, “which is where he is right now so that’s where we’re headed next. The Director wants you to keep up constant surveillance of him for the first few days until you learn his routine so you’re not gonna be returning to base till Tuesday night. After that we have to get here at ass o’clock in the morning so we can be here in time to follow to him to work so you’re feeding time is gonna have to be moved up. You’ll monitor him, as he gets ready and then notify me when he’s leaving his apartment. The same protocol applies for when he’s leaving work. Once we get back to his apartment you’ll continue to monitor him until he goes to sleep, and starting Tuesday you’ll notify me when he does so we can return to base. For now though you’ll just be notifying me when he leaves his apartment and when he leaves work. Got it?”

He does not know what ass o’clock means, but he understands the rest of his orders so he says, “Yes.”

“Weekends are when you’ll need to keep a closer eye on him. If he’s planning to go to the police or try anything that’ll probably be when he does it so if he’s on the phone for longer than, like, two minutes or if he looks like he’s getting ready to leave his apartment, you notify me, understand?”

“Yes.”

When they pull into to the parking lot of a four-story building with large windows, Handler A identifies it as the insurance company. He parks on the left side of the building and Twelve looks at the clock on the dashboard. It reads 1:56—1356 hours.

“Liam shares a corner office with another guy on the second floor over there.” Handler A points to the back, left corner and then shrugs. “It’s up to you where you wanna surveil him from. I don’t really care as long as you don’t get caught.”

There is a thick copse of trees about forty-eight feet from the back of the office, another perfect vantage point.

“That’s pretty much it.” Handler A pauses, reaching into the backseat of the car. “Don’t know if you even need these since you can probably see shit that’s like a trillion miles away but the Director ordered me to give them to you anyway.”

He hands Twelve a pair of large black binoculars with a neck strap attached. “He said it was just a precaution but I’m pretty sure it’s actually a gift for his favorite cocksucker. You probably don’t even know what a gift is, do you?”

“No.”

“It’s like a reward,” he says smirking, “except you don’t have to do well on a mission to get it, you just have to let an old guy fuck you up the ass a few times.”

Handler A looks at him for a moment as if he is expecting Twelve to respond, but it was not a direct question or an order so Twelve does not respond and Handler A snorts and shakes his head.

“ _Pathetic_ , you’re too stupid to even realize when you’re being insulted.” He leans over Twelve to open the passenger door and says, “Get out. And put your hood up till you get to wherever you’re surveilling him from. These windows are fucking huge and if someone sees you walk by the building with your muzzle they’ll probably freak out and call the cops.”

Twelve does as instructed, pulling his hood up, putting the binoculars around his neck, and getting out of the car. He walks past the left side of the building, across the parking lot, and into the grove of trees, surveying his options. Then he chooses a tree two back from the front of the grove, climbs until he is about level with the second floor, making sure the branch he perches on is sturdy and will hold under his weight, and directs his gaze to the window Handler A pointed out to him.

He does not see Liam at first. He is not in the corner office, but the door to the office is open with a clear glass panel separating the office from the rest of floor and after a moment he spots Liam walking around the main section of the floor. He has a bandage across his nose and very slight bruising under his eyes from where Twelve subdued him at the bank three days prior.

He hears Handler A’s voice in his comms. “Do you have eyes on the target?”

“Yes.”

“Ok good, I’m going on a lunch break. I’ll be back around 4:30. Notify me immediately if he looks like he’s going to leave before then or if he makes any long phone calls.”

“Ok.”

He watches Liam walk back and forth between the office and the main section of the floor, often with a large stack of papers in his hand. There are desks—smaller than the large one in the office Liam shares—sitting evenly spaced across the main area of the floor and Liam flits from desk to desk, holding brief conversations with people. There are a lot of overlapping voices but he is close enough that if he zeroes in on Liam and the person he is talking to he can hear what is being said.

“Liam,” says one man from behind his desk, handing Liam a large stack of papers, “I need you to make eight copies of the Reinfeld claim for me.”

“The printer’s down right now, there’s a guy coming to fix it but he won’t be here for another hour.”

“Can’t _you_ fix it?”

“No, I’m not a printer technician.”

“Why are you even here if you can’t even fix a printer for God’s sake?”

“Look, the printer will be fixed in an hour, I’ll be back to make your copies then, okay?”

“Whatever. I don’t even know why David hired you when you can barely can do anything yourself anyway.”

“Liam!” A woman calls from two desks over.

“Yeah?”

“Can you get me a latte from the café downstairs? Large, half-caf, non-fat with soy milk.”

“Um…I’m not an intern, Arlene.”

“You work here, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re certainly not an insurance broker, and I don’t see any of the other interns around,” she says, looking around the room.

Twelve sees Liam ball his free hand into a fist. “Because you sent them all downstairs to sort files twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, do you see me asking anyone else? Unless you’d like me to tell David when he gets back from his lunch break that you’re being insubordinate.”

He sighs. “Fine. I’ll get you your coffee.”

He walks back to the corner office, closing the door and putting the stack of papers on the small desk that sits a few feet away from the door, and then he looks up at the ceiling, takes five deep breaths and goes back out. He goes into an elevator at the other end of the floor and Twelve does not see him for some time.

When he comes back he is holding a cardboard cup billowing steam, which he carefully hands to the woman. She takes it without looking at him as she continues typing on her computer.

A man walks into the corner office shortly afterwards, also holding a cardboard cup, and gives Liam a series of orders as he sits at the large desk in front of the window. Liam flits around the office for a while completing his assigned tasks and then disappears for a while again. Twelve sees him walk past the office door talking to another man shortly afterwards.

“I don’t know, it just stopped working all of a sudden. I kept getting this error message on the screen saying ‘Printer Failed to Connect’ and it wouldn’t let me do anything.”

“Probably just needs a manual reset and a software update. Happens all the time with this model.”

Twelve loses sight of them again for about ten minutes, then he spots them standing by the elevators.

“Thanks, you seriously saved my life,” Liam says, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s no big deal, it’s my job,” the man says, shrugging and then lowering his voice. “I’m just glad I don’t have to put up with these assholes.”

Liam laughs, his eyes squinting up as he does. “Yeah, lucky you.”

The man pulls a small card out of his pocket. “Hey, um…if the printer gives you any more problems or, you know, you just want a break from these guys, feel free to call. My cell’s the one on the bottom.”

He hands Liam the card and Liam’s cheeks turn pink, an expression of surprise briefly crossing his face before he smiles and says, “Thanks…maybe I will.”

Twelve hears the elevator ding and the man gets in, smiling back at Liam as the doors close. The rest of Liam’s workday goes much the same as it had been before the other man came, and Handler A returns and checks in with Twelve.

“Mission report.”

“Target spent the majority of the time taking orders from others in the office. He received one phone call on the landline phone lasting approximately one minute and eleven seconds.”

“Alright. Notify me when he’s leaving.”

“Ok.”

He watches Liam go about his duties for another forty-eight minutes and then Liam begins stacking up the piles of papers laying around the smaller desk and putting them into folders.

“Is it alright if I clock out or did you need me to do anything else?”

The man sitting at the large desk pauses only for a moment to look up at Liam and then resumes looking over the stack of papers on his own desk, waving a hand in the air. “Yes, yes, it’s fine. Enjoy your weekend.”

“Thanks,” Liam says, closing the laptop sitting on the small desk and placing it in a black rectangular bag with a shoulder strap. He throws the strap over his shoulder and then walks out the office door and across the main floor to the elevators.

“He is leaving,” Twelve announces.

“Ok, come back to the car. And don’t forget to put your hood up again.”

He does as instructed. When he gets back in the car there are shiny crumpled up pieces of paper littering the floor and they crunch under his feet as he enters. The car smells like the hallway outside of the Handler’s Station back at the base sometimes does. Handler A waits for a short while after Liam drives off before he pulls out too. They follow Liam as he drives directly to his apartment, staying at least one lane away and two to three cars behind his the entire journey.

When they get to Liam’s apartment building Handler A parks in the same spot he did earlier and Twelve exits, climbing up the fire escape to the roof of the building he is to surveil Liam from. The ledge is just high enough to conceal most of his body and his face if he crouches, and he can see straight into the large windows of Liam’s apartment from his position. Liam enters shortly after Twelve settles in his post.

“Do you have eyes on the target?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go park around the other side of the building. I’ll be waiting there on standby.”

Liam gets a call on his cellular phone two minutes and twenty-two seconds after entering his apartment. Twelve waits to see if the call lasts longer than two minutes and then notifies Handler A when it does.

“Liam has received a call.”

“He’s _received_ a call?”

“Yes.”

“It’s probably nothing. It’s making a call that could be a problem because he could be calling the police or a P.I. or something…but then again if he’s already called them it could be them calling him back. Can you hear what he’s saying?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat it to me, word for word from the beginning.”

“Louis, this really isn’t a good time. It’s been a really shitty week and I’m in a really shitty mood and I don’t wanna bring you guys down with me. For the millionth time Louis, I gave you that extra key to be used in emergencies only. I was not in despair—”

“Ok, that’s enough. It’s just a personal call, it’s not important.”

Twelve’s comms go silent and he resumes watching Liam. He sits on the couch watching the television for two hours and thirty-three minutes, and then he gets up and goes to the kitchen. He takes a container out of the refrigerator and puts it in the microwave, when the machine beeps he removes the container and goes back to the couch, eating the contents as he resumes watching the television. Another hour and a forty-one minutes passes and Liam gets up, throwing the container into the trashcan next to his kitchen counter. He types something on his cellular phone, then walks towards the door, picking up a set of keys from the dish on the small table next to the door and exiting his apartment.

“He is leaving.”

“What?” Handler A says loudly. There is loud music playing in the background but the volume decreases after a moment.

“He is leaving,” Twelve repeats.

“Alright, I’m pulling the car around, get down here quick before we lose him.”

He runs halfway down the fire escape then jumps the rest of the way to the ground and waits on the curb for Handler A. A man walking down the sidewalk stops and stares at him but he does not know why, and after a few moments pass the man shakes his head and continues walking.

A car pulls up and he starts to walk toward it but realizes that although the car looks identical, the sticker with the U-shaped symbol is on the left back window and it is not Handler A in the driver’s seat. A woman rushes past him and gets in the car. It is clear that she is on a solo mission or she would not be getting in a solo mission car but she is wearing civilian clothes and he does not recognize her from the base, nor does he recognize the man in the driver’s seat. He wonders briefly if the program also extends to other bases at other locations, but he does not have time to dwell on this because another car pulls up and this time it is Handler A in the driver’s seat.

He enters the car just as Liam gets into the backseat of another car parked in front of the apartment building. Handler A waits until shortly after the car Liam is in pulls off before he pulls off too and they follow Liam to a squat, black and gold, one-story building, parking across the street at the end of the block furthest from the entrance. Twelve sees Liam go inside but the door is opaque and the windows are high and small so he cannot adequately see inside.

“It’s a pub,” Handler A says. “Do you know what that is?”

“Yes,” he replies.

He has had to monitor targets in pubs on previous missions. He knows that they are places of socialization and that civilians gather there to drink various-colored beverages. He does not fully understand the custom, but then again he does not fully understand a number of customs that non-operatives engage in.

“Well, there’s no need to monitor him while he’s here, it’s not like he’s gonna meet with the cops in a pub at 10 o’clock at night. We’ll stay here for a little while just to make sure he’s not leaving again anytime soon and then I’ll drop you off back at his apartment.”

They leave after exactly thirty minutes and and Handler A notifies him that he will be staying in a hotel nearby awaiting Twelve’s updates. Once Handler A drops him off, he returns to his post on the roof of the abandoned building. Liam does not return to his apartment until the clock in his bedroom reads 2:03. He throws something in the trashcan, changes his clothes and then goes to bed and all the while Twelve watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was really nervous about posting this chapter because there's just so much going on in this one and I felt like there was a lot that might come off as confusing...I read through it myself like 5 times trying to make sure that everything made sense, but obviously as the person writing it I am biased so if anything is confusing/doesn't make sense to you guys at any point please let me know in the comments and I'll be sure to answer any questions or anything to the best of my abilities (without spoiling too much), and of course go back and edit the fic so that it makes sense to anyone reading in the future. Also, constructive criticism = love and is always welcome! Looking forward to hearing you guys' thoughts on this one... :)
> 
> P.S. Had to make a minor update to the last paragraph so some stuff in a later chapter makes sense...I'll make sure to post a note in the next chapter as well for those who've already read this one and might not see this


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I had to make a very minor update to the very last paragraph of the previous chapter so some stuff in a later chapter isn’t confusing, you don’t have to go back and read it if you don’t want to (it’s literally just a few words added on to one sentence), I’m just overly cautious about causing confusion and wanted to make sure that minor detail was clear…but without further ado here is chapter 5…

_Liam_

Liam resumes his search for Zayn’s family the next morning but the list of phone numbers gets him nowhere and after another three and half hours of searching online with fruitless results he decides to try to see if he can find any information on Zayn and the people he’s involved with. He starts off by trying to find out if there have been any other bank robberies recently with groups that might fit their description but that just leads to more dead ends, so he decides to try searching instead for information on terrorist organizations. He’s not stupid though, he knows this is precisely the kind of thing that gets people put on watch lists at government intelligence agencies but while he may not be a hacker like Louis, he has picked up a few things in the four years that they’ve been friends. He knows how to use a VPN to hide his IP address and he makes sure to do just that before he starts searching any further.

He still ends up hitting a lot of dead ends though. He finds a couple of posts on some website called “The Secret Vault: Terrorist Groups Exposed” that seem like they might be promising, but after browsing around on the site for a little while he realizes the guy who runs it is most likely a certified nut job and probably also a neo-Nazi. He wishes he could ask Louis for help but he knows if he does Louis will start asking all sorts of questions and he really doesn’t think it’s a good idea to get anyone else involved, least of all his friends.

He glances at the time in the top right corner of his computer screen and curses. It’s almost five o’clock in the afternoon, he’d been so engrossed in his search he hadn’t even stopped to eat anything besides the bowl of cereal he’d scarfed down that morning. He makes himself some ramen and decides to take a Netflix break, which inevitably ends up turning into him binge-watching a bunch of random documentaries. Niall calls him later that evening to “make sure you’re still alive and remembered to stop watching Netflix long enough to eat.” They talk for a bit before Niall reveals that the real reason he called is because he’s going on a date with the barista girl from the coffee shop they sometimes frequent and he’s nervous.

“I’m kind of freaking out, Li, she’s way out of my league and what if she thinks I’m weird or boring or something?”

“Niall, you’re the exact opposite of boring. You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay? She’s gonna love you, and if she doesn’t then she’s not worth it anyway.”

Niall has a million more what-ifs and it takes some coaxing but eventually Liam gets him to calm down some.

“Just don’t say anything to Louis for a little while, okay? Once he finds out you know I’ll never hear the end of it and I’d rather put that off for as long as I can.”

“Don’t worry, my lips are sealed…I guess this explains why you reacted the way you did last night when Louis mentioned her though.”

He can practically hear Niall blushing through the phone. “Yeah, I’ve sort of been freaking out for the last few days. I wanted to tell you before but after what happened at the bank it just didn’t really feel as important, you know? And I thought about telling Harry but I knew if I did it would probably only stay a secret for about ten whole seconds before Louis found out.”

“Hey, you can always talk to me, okay? Anytime, no matter what kind of crazy shit the universe throws at me, I’m always here, alright?”

“Yeah, alright. Now shut up before you make me cry on the way to my date.”

Liam laughs, which makes Niall laugh too, and it ends up turning into a giggling fit.

“Alright, I’d better go,” Niall says after a while, still giggling a little. “Don’t wanna be late.”

“Okay. Don’t worry, it’s gonna go great, I know it.”

“Thanks, Li.”

“Anytime.”

Liam goes back to watching Netflix until a little past two in the morning when he finally decides to turn in. After all, he’s got a-whole-nother day of searching ahead of him tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I apologize for this chapter being so short, but honestly there’s just not too much going on in Liam’s life at this point other than focusing on trying to find any info on Zayn or his family and dealing with his shitty co-workers…I promise the next chapter is going to be much longer to make up for it though! Also, Zayn’s chapters are probably gonna be a lot longer than Liam’s for a while just because he has a lot more going on atm and also there’s just a lot more to explain in general but bear with me guys, Liam’s chapters will eventually get longer again too.  
> And hey, at least you got some friendly Niam in this one!  
> Also, the next chapter should be up within the next few days so be on the look-out!


	6. Chapter 6

_Zayn_

Twelve does not sleep for the first few days of his mission. As is his usual practice when learning the routine of a target, he stays awake and maintains 24/7 surveillance of Liam so that he can learn exactly what time parameters Liam usually wakes up and goes to sleep between. Handler A, who arrives at the building each day shortly after Twelve notifies him that Liam has woken up, returns to the hotel he is staying at each night while Twelve maintains his post and continues to watch Liam.

Over the duration of the weekend Liam does not leave his flat often but spends most of his time on his computer or on his mobile phone. The binoculars, which Twelve did not think he would need to make use of since his own vision has proved to be more than adequate on all of his previous missions, end up being quite useful. He is able to view minute details, such as the text on the screen of Liam’s computer and messages Liam sends on his cellular phone, in clearer focus where he could only partially make out the words previously.

Liam had started making a list of what appeared to be phone numbers the night he came home from the pub and throughout the weekend he adds to this list. Twelve watches him make a series of phone calls, none of which last more than about forty-five seconds, and then return to reading the text on his computer screen. He seems particularly interested in information on terrorist organizations. He receives another phone call lasting longer than two minutes on Saturday evening, the evening of Twelve’s first full day of surveillance, and Twelve notifies Handler A only to be told that it is another personal call and is of no importance to the mission.

Sunday goes much the same as Saturday, though Liam does not receive any more phone calls lasting longer than two minutes. Monday and Tuesday are also fairly uneventful. Handler A arrives much earlier, around 0700 hours, and they follow Liam to and from work, Twelve noting that Liam seems to keep a very consistent routine. On Tuesday Liam makes a brief stop at a building that Twelve recognizes as a grocery shop. Just as he has observed previous targets doing at these kinds of establishments, Liam exits the building with his arms full of plastic bags, placing them in the backseat of his car, and then proceeding to his flat.

Once he is inside his flat and Twelve is back at his post, he watches as Liam places the bags on the kitchen counter, removing various items and placing them in the cupboards and the refrigerator. When he has removed about half of the items he receives what appears to be a personal call lasting approximately ten minutes and thirty-two seconds. Liam places the phone on the counter and the volume is increased high enough that Twelve can hear what the person on the other end is saying.

“Hi, love. How are you doing? Are you alright?”

“I’m alright, Mum. I just got back from the shops so I’m just putting stuff away.”

“How are you feeling? Are you still in any pain? Have you been taking pain meds like I told you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Liam says, touching the bandage across his nose lightly. “It doesn’t really hurt all that much anymore. The swelling’s gone down and the bruising’s pretty much gone and the paramedic said I could probably take the bandage off after about two weeks, so I should be good as new soon.”

“Alright, well, I just wanted to check-in on you. Your dad and I, we worry, you know.”

“I know, Mum, but I’m okay, I promise.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Your dad and I were actually thinking of coming up to visit this weekend.”

“Really?” Liam says excitedly, raising his eyebrows as he smiles.

“Yeah…we actually wanted to come this past weekend but your dad came down with something and he just didn’t feel up to it. And we didn’t wanna risk getting you sick, too, on top of everything else.”

Liam frowns. “Is he alright though?”

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s feeling much better now, and he says he should be in tip-top shape by this weekend so if you’re not too busy, we’d love to come and see you!”

Liam smiles as he takes another item out of one of the bags. “Yeah, that sounds good, I’d love to see you guys!”

“Lovely, we’ll come up on Saturday then.”

They continue talking for a long while about someone named Ruth and then another named Nicola. Twelve is fascinated by the myriad of facial expressions Liam makes over the duration of the conversation, but he refocuses his attention when he hears familiar names being mentioned.

“And how are Louis and Niall and Harry? All okay, I hope?”

He recognizes these names from Liam’s phone conversation three days prior.

“Yeah, they’re fine. Louis actually just got promoted so he thinks he’s the King of the Internet now,” Liam says, laughing.

“Oh, good for him! Tell him I said congratulations, and give the other boys my love, too, will you?”

“I will.”

“Alright, well, we’ll see you on Saturday then, okay?”

“Okay, see you guys then. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetie. Bye!”

“Bye, Mum.”

The call ends and Liam finishes unpacking the bags. When he is done he changes his clothes, then sits and watches the television. A few hours pass and Handler A asks Twelve for a mission report. He notifies Handler A that Liam put away his items from the grocery shop, received a personal call lasting approximately ten minutes, and is now watching the television.

“Nice to know you’re finally learning how to recognize a personal call,” Handler A says.

Twelve has previously not had need to pay attention to the details of phone calls on missions. For most of his other targets the primary concerns were meetings and the exchanging of items, not discerning whether a phone call was personal or not. Had Handler A been employed at the base longer and been more accustomed to the inter-workings of solo missions he would probably know this, but he has not, so he does not.

Liam goes to bed shortly after Twelve gives his mission report, and he notifies Handler A of this just as he was instructed. Handler A orders him to come back to the car and when they return to base, Twelve is directed to the shower rooms where he is bathed and then taken to a Testing Room.

He removes all of his clothes except for his undergarments and sits in the wooden chair behind the table in the middle of the room, waiting for The Doctor to enter. Three minutes pass and then the Doctor comes in wheeling a large computer-like machine behind him. He connects electrodes to various points on Twelve’s head and chest and then places a tablet on the table in front of Twelve. The footage from the bank begins to play and he instructs Twelve to watch it as he sits across from him, taking notes on a notepad.

Twelve does as he is asked and when the video is finished playing the Doctor asks him a series of questions about the mission and about his previous interaction with Liam. The questions strike him as strange because the Doctor keeps asking him about feelings but operatives do not have feelings. Civilians have feelings, Handlers and Nurses have feelings, other personnel at the base have feelings—he knows this because he has heard them talk about it in conversations with each other—but operatives do not. Operatives are weapons in human form, nothing more. They experience pain and discomfort only because it is necessary to their training and to their functioning, but they do not experience emotions.

“Can you tell me your name for the record, operative?”

“Twelve.”

The Doctor pauses to look at the machine behind Twelve and then makes a note on his notepad.

“Your official rank?“

“Ten.”

“And your _unofficial_ rank?”

“Fifteen.”

“Tell me, Twelve, do you recall having any particular _feelings_ when you saw the target for the first time in the bank?”

“No.”

“Do you recall experiencing any kind of abnormal physical reaction upon first seeing the target in the bank?”

“No.”

There is a pause as the Doctor glances at the machine again and then makes another note.

“What about when the target spoke to you—when he said the word Zayn—did you feel anything or experience any abnormal physical reaction then?”

“No.”

Another pause.

“How about when you saw him again, the day you began your solo mission?”

“No.”

“And at any point over the duration of your mission so far?”

“No.”

“What about while watching the video a few minutes ago? Do you recall experiencing any abnormal reaction then?”

“No.”

“And when you hear his name— _Liam Payne_?”

“No.”

Another pause.

“Alright, that concludes your testing for tonight. From here on out you will undergo testing once every week after your return until you conclude your mission. You’re to come straight here every Tuesday as soon as you’re finished being showered. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

He gets back to his team’s bunks just after lights out and makes his way to his own bunk on the far side of the room right next to the window. He lies there watching the clouds roll by in the night sky until he drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come follow me on [tumblr](http://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com) if you're so inclined! :)
> 
>  
> 
> Update 8/8/16: So I made some minor edits to this chapter because when I was reading it over some of the sentences and the dialogue between Liam and his mom just felt really awkward, it’s nothing that affects the storyline though so you don’t need to reread it or anything (unless you want to!). 
> 
> I also want to let you guys know that I haven’t abandoned this story, but updates are probably gonna come a little slower for a while because 1) my schedule has changed a little and 2) the chapters are getting a little bit more difficult to write. My original goal was to try to post at least one to two chapters a week, which clearly didn’t last very long lol smh, but once I get past the hurtle that I’m currently stuck at with these next few chapters hopefully that’ll pick back up again. So sorry for the wait, but the next chapter is coming, I swear (hopefully within the next week, fingers crossed)! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Apologies in advance for the essay, feel free to skip over it if you like)
> 
> PSA:  
> Okay so first of all I want to apologize for the long wait for this chapter…SO much has been going on for me and I haven’t had as much to time write as I would like to and that’s on top of getting stuck at multiple scenes in this chapter as well as the next few chapters smh. I think I actually needed to come away from this fic for a little while though to figure out where I wanted to go with the scenes I kept getting stuck at so in the long run I think taking a break was actually really good for the story (and for me lol).
> 
> Second of all I want to make it clear that I’m posting this chapter tentatively, as it’s highly likely that I might need to go back and make some major changes after I finish some of the later chapters. I realized that one of the reasons I kept getting stuck, in this chapter and the next few, was because there was a lot that just wasn’t matching up with the original direction of the story, and while I’ve fixed most of what I was unhappy with there’s still some things that I feel like might need to be changed or taken out altogether. 
> 
> If I do decide to make changes I’ll definitely let you guys know specifically what I changed so you won’t be confused and you’ll know exactly what part to go to if you wanna re-read it for reference. This is a work in progress though, and I don’t have a beta so I do all of my own editing. Which means it’s that much harder to figure out what’s working and not working without my own bias as the author getting in the way, so for now you’ll have to just bear with me on this journey and I promise I’ll try my best to make it worth your while!
> 
> Also, I’ve been making more of an effort with the Britishisms in the more recent chapters, but for anyone who’s not familiar with certain terms I will try to make a note of them and their American equivalents as I update. And for anyone who’s not aware of this particular Britishism, fancy dress party = costume party.
> 
> And now onto the story you're actually here for...

_Liam_

Liam tries to get back into the swing of things, but he feels like he’s in a fog. It’s been a week since the bank incident and while his boss gave him a free pass for being partially distracted those first few days, he’s reached the point now where he’s expected to resume business as usual. Spending an entire weekend trying to dig up information on Zayn and his family certainly didn’t help his current mental state and now he feels like it’s all he can think about. He keeps seeing Zayn’s face everywhere with that same blank expression staring back at him. And on top of that, this whole situation just keeps bringing up all sorts of memories that he tried so hard to put behind him. He’s sitting at a stoplight on his way home from the grocery shop when he sees a little boy walking down the sidewalk with a Batman backpack.

The last time he saw Zayn, just hours before he disappeared, they’d been in his room both poured over the newest issue of Batman that Liam had brought over, even though they were supposed to be working on their homework. Zayn’s mum had come in to tell Liam his own mum wanted him home for dinner, so he let Zayn keep the comic as long as he promised to give it back the next day. Months later, after the police closed the case and labeled Zayn a runaway, Zayn’s mum came to see Liam. She stood on their front step teary-eyed, hugging the Batman comic to her chest and then she handed it to him with shaking hands. She told him she’d found it under Zayn’s pillow and she knew that Zayn would have wanted him to have it back like he promised. He’d slept with it under his own pillow until it started falling apart and tearing at the edges and he’d been forced to put it in the box he kept under his bed full of things that reminded him of Zayn.

He’s startled out of his reverie by cars honking behind him and he realizes he’s been sitting at a green light holding up traffic. The little boy with the Batman backpack is halfway up the next block now, his mum laughing, trailing behind him as he tugs her along by the hand to an ice cream shop. He passes them by and keeps his eyes resolutely on the road the whole rest of the way home, determined not to get distracted again. The last thing he needs right now is to get into an accident.

He’s just started putting away the groceries when his mum calls to check up on him. He lets her get through her usual round of worried-mum questions before assuring her that he is perfectly fine. He thinks, for the millionth time, of telling her about Zayn but again he decides against it. He’d made the decision the day of the incident that he would wait until after the police closed their investigation before he told his parents about Zayn, just in case. He knows he’s being super paranoid. The police wouldn’t question his parents or his friends unless they thought he was a suspect; which they obviously don’t or they would’ve brought him in by now. But still it makes him feel better, or rather safer, to take the precaution.

When she tells him they’re planning on coming to visit, he can’t help smiling. He hasn’t seen his parents in a while and if he’s honest with himself he’s been feeling a little homesick lately with everything that’s been going on. Even if he can’t tell them about Zayn yet it’ll be nice to spend some time with them, get out of own his head for a bit. They chat for a little while about his sisters and the other boys before they hang up and Liam finishes putting away his groceries.

He watches the telly without really watching it, flipping through the channels haphazardly, not really focusing on anything in particular. He ends up getting caught up in some random program on how crisps are made, watching the rhythmic motions of the machine half in a daze as it sifts through the potatoes and then passes them along to the other stations. He listens to the narrator’s voice drone on in the background for a while as she explains the different stages involved but he doesn’t really process anything she’s saying. After a while he decides to just call it a night, turning the telly off and heading to bed.

*

His parents’ visit is nice. His mum brings over a big Tupperware container full of homemade chocolate chip biscuits and he practically inhales about half of them while he makes them all tea. They ask a thousand more questions about the bank and his injuries and he assures them for the millionth time that he’s fine. He’d decided to take the bandage off early even though the paramedic had told him to keep it on for a full two weeks and he’d only had it on for ten days. But his nose doesn’t hurt at all anymore and the bruising is completely gone so he figures it’s fine.

They talk for a while about how things are going at work and then about Ruth and Nicola. Eventually they end up watching the telly. Which inevitably leads to them watching The Dark Knight for the millionth time because his parents are amazing and don’t mind indulging him, no matter how many times he makes them watch it. He really loves his parents. They chat for a little while longer after the movie ends before his parents decide to get going, wanting to get back on the road to beat the afternoon traffic before it gets too bad. Liam hugs them both good-bye and his mum makes him promise not to eat all the rest of the biscuits in one sitting, and then they’re gone and he’s alone with his thoughts again.

He tries to keep himself as distracted as possible for the rest of the day. He spends a good amount of time talking to Niall, and then Louis and Harry on the phone. He watches old episodes of Friends on Netflix, attempts to read through and annotate a really long, really boring insurance claim for work. All of that manages to keep him distracted from thoughts of Zayn for a few hours at least but he’s still haunted by him in his dreams later that night. By that empty stare and his gaunt appearance, the way he’d slammed Liam into the floor with an almost unnatural strength for his small size, rammed his face into the linoleum with no hesitation at all.

Liam’s startled awake by the memory-turned-dream, a phantom pain throbbing in his nose that fades quickly. It’s early, the sun’s barely even risen, but he feels wide-awake and after a few minutes he gives up altogether on trying to go back to sleep. He makes a quick breakfast of eggs and toast, all the while debating with himself about whether or not he should continue trying to find information on Zayn and his family after last week’s failed attempts. Ultimately he decides to just give in because, if his dreams are anything to go by, his subconscious apparently is not willing to let this go just yet, no matter how much he tries to distract himself from it. So that’s how he ends up spending his second Sunday in a row hunched over his laptop, this time expanding his search to include cults in the hopes that it might get him closer to finding information on what might have happened to Zayn.

*

It’s Friday when he gets the call. It’s been a really long week. He’s barely even been home for half an hour and was looking forward to unwinding on the couch a little before going out to the pub later. But because he can’t have nice things his phone rings right in the middle of an SVU episode just when it starts getting really interesting.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Hello. May I speak to Liam Payne, please?” It’s a woman’s voice and he’s not sure what to make of it at first.

“Yes, this is Liam.”

“Mr. Payne, we’re going to need you to come down to the police precinct for questioning regarding the TSB Bank case.”

“Um, okay…I’m not, like, being charged with anything, am I?”

“No, sir, it’s just for questioning.”

“Ok, I can probably be there in about…twenty minutes or so.”

“That’s fine. When you arrive just come to the front desk and say that you’re here to meet with Inspector Hannon.”

“Ok, thanks,” he says, hanging up.

He’s a sweaty, nervous wreck during the drive over. He can’t seem to stop the endless stream of questions running through his head. Did they find the robbers? Did they find Zayn? Do they know why he went missing all those years ago? Do they know what happened to him? Do they know that Liam recognized Zayn? Do they think he might be involved somehow _because_ he recognized Zayn? Have they tracked down Zayn’s family? Have they arrested him?

It’s only been two and half weeks since the incident so the answer to most of those questions is probably no, but he can’t help thinking them anyway. He’s driving himself nuts and, despite the air conditioning being on full blast the whole ride over, by the time he gets to the police station he’s got pit stains the size of the Atlantic Ocean. He keeps his arms down at his sides, his hands to tucked in his pockets, in an effort to hide it but he doubts it does much good.

When he gets to the front desk he tells the receptionist that he’s here to see Inspector Hannon but she barely looks at him before telling him to have a seat in one of the wooden chairs lining the wall and picking up the phone.

“Hannon…yeah, there’s a Liam Page here to see you…yeah…okay.”

Liam doesn’t bother to correct her. Although he does find it a bit odd considering it’s the same woman he spoke to just half an hour earlier and she managed to get his name right then. But then again, he figures she must make a thousand calls a day and probably doesn’t even remember calling him in the first place.

“He’ll be ‘round in a minute,” she says to Liam as she hangs up.

He nods in acknowledgement and she turns her attention back to the phone to make another call. A few minutes later a man with a sparse beard and a close-cropped haircut that’s greying at the edges makes his way around the corner. Liam recognizes him as one of the officers that questioned him at the bank.

Inspector Hannon reaches out a hand. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice, Mr. Payne.”

“Yeah, of course,” Liam says, returning the handshake. He follows as Hannon leads him around the corner, across the main area filled with office desks, and down a brightly lit corridor. He directs Liam into a room at the very end of the corridor and it looks just like the interrogation rooms in SVU, except not quite as dark.

There’s a pad of paper and a pen already sitting on the metal table and Hannon takes a seat in the chair in front of them, gesturing for Liam to sit in the chair opposite him.

“Do you want anything before we start? Water or coffee or anything?”

“No, thanks.”

“Have you ever been questioned by the police before?”

“Yes.” Liam says. His pulse quickens for a moment, thinking Hannon is going to start asking questions about the last time he was interrogated by the police, which would force him to talk about Zayn.

Hannon doesn’t pry though, just says, “Alright, so you know how this works. I’m just gonna ask you some more questions about what happened at the bank, see if there’s anything we may have missed the first time ‘round or if you’ve remembered anything else since then. Make sure your story matches up with the other witnesses’ and everything.”

Liam nods jerkily.

“Alright, how about we start off with you walking me through what happened?”

“Okay, um…well, I was standing in line at the bank and then these guys came in—or, not just guys, cause there were girls too—but anyway this group came in and they were wearing all black. Like, tactical gear or something like that…you know like how special ops guys or, like, S.W.A.T teams are dressed in movies and things? They were dressed like that but instead of helmets they had on masks. Most of them had on black masks but there were a few that had on silver ones. They were the ones with the guns—”

“And how many of them were there, with guns?”

“Four.”

“And what about the others, the ones with the black masks? Do you remember how many of them there were?”

“Not for sure, no, but I’d guess there were maybe around twenty or so.”

Hannon nods, scribbling a few notes down on his notepad, and Liam continues. “When they came in they immediately got into this formation…”

“Formation?” Hannon repeats, confused.

“Yeah, like, the second they burst through the doors they immediately started lining up in this half-circle type formation around the front of the bank, blocking the doors. And they were all standing evenly spaced apart with their hands behind their back in, like, a military stance or something. It was really creepy, actually. They even came through the doors in these two perfectly straight single file lines, very military-like. The ones with the silver masks and the guns were in the back, so they came in last and they went right over to the emergency exit while the others were still lining up in their half-circle thing.”

“So only the four in the silver masks had guns?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you tell what type of guns they were? What color?”

“Black. Definitely black…they looked like AK-47’s.”

“And the ones in the black masks didn’t have any weapons of any sort on them? No knives or handguns or anything that looked like it could’ve been used as a weapon?”

“Not that I could see, no.”

“When we spoke to you before, right after the incident, you mentioned you noticed something strange about the black masks. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah, the masks, it was—they were almost more like…like muzzles than masks, if that makes any sense.”

“Like a dog muzzle?”

“Sort of, but not quite…”

“Can you describe it to me?”

“Um…it covered most of their faces, from their nose to their chin. I’m not really sure what it was made out of…it looked like maybe some sort of cloth mixed with some sort of, like, rubber-type material? And it had lines in the front so they could breath through it.”

Hannon makes another note in his notepad. “And the silver masks, did you notice anything strange or unique about those?”

“No, they just looked like plain masks. Like something you might wear to a fancy dress party or something.”

“And what happened after they finished lining up?”

“One of the ones in the silver masks shot his gun into the ceiling and everybody ducked down…except for me.”

“Why didn’t you get down?”

Liam shrugs and looks down, picks at a stray piece of fabric on the bottom of his shirt as he feels his cheeks heat up. “I don’t know. I was in shock I guess and I just froze…I wanted to get down, but for some reason I just… _couldn’t_.”

“And is that when the assailant attacked you?”

“Yeah, when I wouldn’t get down the one that shot his gun came over to me and he signaled for one of the other guys in the black masks to come over with him. Except the ones standing in the half-circle did this weird thing though the _second_ he stepped out of the line where they, like, immediately all shifted around so they were evenly spaced again. I don’t really know how to describe it…it was almost… _robotic_ , the way they moved—”

“And they did all this without saying a word to each other?”

“Yeah…until they got to me, at least. The one with the gun—I’m not sure whether he’s, like, their leader or not but he seemed to be the one in charge—he ordered the one in the black mask to ‘secure’ me and then to wait for his signal and the next thing I know I’m being slammed into the ground and having my face bashed into the floor. By the time I came to they were gone.”

“He must’ve had to get pretty close to you to knock you down like that, yeah?”

“Um…yeah, I guess.”

“So then you must’ve gotten a pretty good look at him?”

He feels his heart rate pick up again. “Not really…that part’s more of a blur, honestly.”

“Is there anything you _do_ remember about him? His height? His hair color perhaps? Or his skin color? You must’ve at least had a chance to see that much.”

“Um…well, he was about my height. And they all had their hair cut short, like a crew cut, but I remember his hair was dark…it could’ve been black, or dark brown, maybe—the lighting was pretty bad in the bank, so I’m not entirely sure, he looked like he had a slight tan though.”

“Some of the other witnesses said they thought he might’ve been Middle Eastern, or possibly Asian. Would you agree that he fit that description?”

“I guess.” Liam shrugs. “I couldn’t see his whole face though, so again I’m not entirely sure.”

His heart’s still racing, but when he glances across the table Hannon just nods and makes another note and he feels himself relax a little bit. At least, until the next question.

“Some of the other witnesses also recalled that you asked the assailant something just before he knocked you unconscious. Do you remember what you said?”

He shakes his head, drumming his fingers on his thighs nervously. “No…sorry, it’s just…those last few moments right before he knocked me out are still pretty hazy. I remember the other guy ordering him to ‘secure’ me and then I remember being slammed into the ground but everything between that is just kind of a blur in my head.”

“Mm, I’m sure. Although perhaps this will jog your memory a bit,” Hannon says, flipping through his notepad. “Most of the witnesses were too far away to make out what you said, but the two who were close enough said they remembered you saying something that sounded like ‘sane.’ Does that ring any bells?”

He shakes his head. “No, sorry. I mean, if I had to guess I’d say I probably asked him if he was _insane_ or something, cause when he came over he had this weird look on his face, you know. Like, this dead-eyed stare, like he wasn’t all there in the head. Like I said before though, that part’s still pretty hazy for me, probably from getting my head bashed in, so I don’t really remember saying anything. But if that’s what they heard, then I guess that’s what I said.”

Hannon doesn’t say anything in response, just stares at him silently and Liam starts to panic for a moment, hoping he doesn’t look as guilty as he feels. But then Hannon moves on.

“Did you notice anything else about their behavior or their appearance? Anything else that seemed strange or out of the ordinary?”

“Just what I told you guys before, about how they were all pretty skinny and how some of them looked really young, like kids.”

“Right,” Hannon says, flipping through his notepad again. “You said there was a girl that looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, is that right?”

“Yeah. Although I guess she could’ve been older…just from what I could see of her face she looked pretty young.”

“Do you remember anything else about her?”

“Just that her hair was blonde, and she was kind of short…like maybe five feet or so.”

“And did she or any of the others have any distinguishing marks, like tattoos or scars, that you can recall?”

“No…I mean, they were pretty much covered from head to toe in tactical gear so if they had any I couldn’t see them.”

Hannon signs, runs a hand through his hair and flips back through his notepad briefly, then returns to the page he was last writing on. “Was there anything else that you wanted to mention before we wrap up? Any other notable details you can think of?”

Liam shakes his head.

“Alright then,” Hannon says, flipping his notepad closed, “I think we’re about done. Thank you for your time, Mr. Payne.”

“Of course.”

He reaches out to shake Liam’s hand again. “You still have my card, yes?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, returning the handshake.

“Well, if you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

Liam nods and Hannon opens the door, leading him back down the corridor and through the main area. He feels oddly relaxed as he gets back to his car, he thinks that went pretty well, considering. He’s just pulled off from the police station when someone honks a few cars behind him, momentarily startling him. For a second he thinks they might be honking at him even though he hadn’t been daydreaming this time, but he checks the light just to be sure. Still red, so not him. He glances in his rearview mirror and sees another car trying to force its way into the lane from its parking spot. The guy who got cut off must have his windows open because just before the light turns green the incessant honking stops and Liam hears him yell, “Up yours, Uber! You don’t own the goddamn road, you wanker!”

The mention of an Uber briefly piques his interest. He’s not sure if it’s just his usual over-attentiveness or if he’s just being plain paranoid but he feels like lately there are a lot more Uber cars around than there used to be. He still prefers to take cabs himself. Feels like private car services are for pretentious hipsters and spoiled, rich kids, although Harry is slowly trying to change his mind about that. But for now he’ll stick to what he’s familiar with. Other than the brief honking stint though, the drive back is oddly peaceful. He rolls down the windows to let the breeze in, enjoying the feeling of the cool spring air on his face. By the time he gets home he has just enough time to make himself a quick dinner and catch another episode in the SVU marathon before it’s time for him to head back out to the pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I’ve never been interrogated by the police or even set foot inside a police station so I have no idea how actual police interrogations go in real life. All of my knowledge of interrogations stems from tv/movies and news footage of police questioning potential suspects. If anyone who has experience with that sort of thing is reading this and notices something that seems off/doesn’t line up in the interrogation scene please let me know and I’ll be sure to fix it asap!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to Zayn so yay (sort of)!

_Zayn_

For the first few weeks of his mission Twelve maintains daily surveillance of Liam. His feeding time is moved up to 0400 hours during the weekdays so that he is able to leave the base by 0500 hours and arrive at his surveillance post by 0630 hours, approximately thirty minutes before Liam usually wakes and begins getting ready. Twelve continues to surveil him at work listening in on his exchanges with his co-workers. But they do not proceed much differently than what he observed on the first day of his mission and eventually he stops listening to these exchanges and only focuses on the phone calls.

Liam normally returns to his flat around 1730 hours, unless he makes a stop at the grocery shop or a petrol station. He spends most of his time watching television, or watching what appear to be long videos on his computer, only making and receiving calls every now and then. Most of his calls are personal, coming from Mum, Louis, Niall, or Harry in order of frequency, as is evidenced by the names that flash across the screen of his cellular phone. Occasionally, however, he receives calls that appear to be work-related, coming from the man he works for at the insurance company whose name, Twelve now knows, is David Weissman.

On Friday night Liam goes to the same pub he went to on the first night of Twelve’s mission and spends approximately three to three and a half hours there before he returns home. From what Twelve has observed so far, Liam usually wakes between 1000 and 1100 hours on weekends and spends his time researching more information on terrorist organizations and on two individuals, Trisha Malik and Yaser Malik. He continues to add to the list of phone numbers on his computer, periodically making a series of calls that last under a minute. The only deviation in an otherwise steady routine occurs near the end of Twelve’s first full week of surveillance. Liam is visited by a man and a woman, whom Twelve surmises must be his parents. But they only stay for approximately five hours before leaving again, and Liam resumes with his regular activity.

The following Tuesday, Twelve meets with the Doctor again for testing as ordered. He is instructed to watch the footage from the bank again and then asked the same series of questions, to which his responses are all still the same. On Thursday, near the end of the second week of his mission, Twelve is sent to meet with the Director along with Handler A. He is told that his constant daily surveillance of Liam is coming to a close and, starting the following Monday, he will only be surveilling Liam on the weekends and in the afternoons on weekdays. He will now only be following Liam home from work on weekdays, reporting on any unusual activity and any non-personal phone calls, and then returning to the base after Liam goes to sleep. Handler A seems pleased at this news though Twelve is unsure why.

*

On Friday everything appears to go as usual. Liam goes to work, completes the tasks assigned to him by David Weissman and others in the office, returns home, and watches the television. He has been home for approximately thirty-six minutes when he receives a phone call. It does not appear to be personal.

“Yes, this is Liam….um, okay…I’m not, like, being charged with anything, am I? Ok, I can be there in about…twenty minutes or so….ok, thanks.”

Liam hangs up the phone, picks up his keys from the dish by the door, and exits his flat. Twelve notifies Handler A and they follow Liam to his destination.

When they are approximately a block away from what appears to be Liam’s destination, however, Handler A says, “Shit. He’s going to the police station.”

He turns the car around and they park two blocks away from the station, Liam parking one block ahead of them. They wait for Liam to enter the building and then Handler A orders Twelve to exit the car. He leads Twelve around the corner before heading back in the direction of the police station, ending up a little less than half a block from the back of the building. There is a bus station with a bench nearby and Handler A instructs him to sit before sitting himself and turning to Twelve.

“Alright, can you hear what people are saying inside the building?”

“Yes.”

“Do you hear Liam’s voice?”

He zeroes in on specific voices that sound similar to Liam’s but he does not hear Liam’s voice.

“No,” he says.

“Alright, keep listening, let me know if you hear him.”

“Ok.” They sit in silence briefly, but after a few minutes pass Twelve announces that he hears Liam.

“Repeat everything back to me, word for word. Everything he says and everything whoever he’s talking to says.”

He does as instructed.

“Alright,” Handler A says, interrupting him in the middle of repeating a statement about one of the female operative’s hair color. “It sounds like they’re mostly just asking him standard questions. He hasn’t said anything too specific about you yet, so that’s good. I’m not sure why he lied about recognizing— _thinking_ he recognized you, I mean, but I guess it’s good for us in the long run. Are they still talking?”

“Yes. It sounds as if he is about to leave.”

“Okay, come on then,” he says, standing in a rush and grabbing Twelve’s arm. “We need to get back to the car before he leaves.”

By the time they get in the car Liam has pulled off and is already half a block away.

“Fuck,” Handler A says as he rushes to start the car. They pull out of their parking spot and Handler A cuts off another car in his haste to catch up to Liam, who is almost a full block away now. Once they are the allotted three cars and one lane away though he appears to calm down. They follow Liam back to his flat where Handler A goes to park in his usual spot around the other side of the abandoned building and Twelve returns to his post on the roof. The rest of the day is fairly uneventful, with Liam going to the pub as usual. They return to the base at approximately 330 hours, Handler A stopping in front of the Handler’s Station to clock out for the night as Twelve continues on to the shower room.

*

When Handler A returns at 0800 hours the following morning, just as Twelve is being unhooked from his IV by the Nurse, he tells Twelve that full daily surveillance of Liam has been extended by another two weeks. The tone of his voice suggests that he is upset, possibly angry, but it is not quite clear.

*

The following week proceeds much like the previous two. Liam continues most of his activities as usual, and he is not brought in again for questioning by the police. He does not go to the pub on Friday, but drives his own car to a restaurant where he meets with another man. Twelve recognizes him as the man from Liam’s office that gave him the card three weeks prior. Twelve has learned from their numerous phone conversations over the past few days that the man’s name is Daniel. He is waiting for Liam just in front of the door to the restaurant and he takes Liam’s hand before going inside.

“Of fucking course he’s a fag,” Handler A says, shaking his head and leering at Twelve. “ _Christ_ , you two belong with each other.”

They are parked in the corner of the parking lot furthest away from the entrance but Liam and Daniel are seated at a table not far from the window, another couple at the table right next to the window only partially blocking Twelve’s view of them. Liam and Daniel smile and laugh each other across the table as they discuss which meal options they are considering, stumbling over pronunciations. Twelve watches them curiously, fascinated by their myriad of facial expressions. After approximately five minutes, however, Handler A says, “Alright, I’m not fucking sitting here for this,” and he pulls off and heads back to the bunker.

*

On Saturday, Liam resumes with his usual weekend activities of searching for information on terrorist organizations and Trisha and Yaser Malik, in addition to searching for information on cults. After making his usual round of phone calls he receives a call from Louis, the volume turned up loud enough for Twelve to hear Louis inviting Liam over to play something called FIFA. They follow Liam to what Twelve assumes is Louis’ flat. But Louis did not state the flat number on the phone so Twelve has no way of knowing which flat they are in and none of the buildings nearby look as if they would serve as good vantage points. They are all much taller than Louis’ building, which means that Twelve would not have a good angle of sight even if he could figure out which flat they were in.

They sit and wait but Liam does not exit for over eight hours. Handler A periodically mutters, “God, I fucking hate this job,” every few hours, switching between playing music from the car’s radio and tapping various brightly colored objects in strange shapes on his phone’s screen. When Liam finally exits the building the clock on the car’s dashboard reads 10:32—2232 hours—and Handler A immediately starts the car, returning to base in approximately three-fourths of the time it usually takes them.

*

The following week goes almost exactly the same with Liam meeting Daniel again on Friday, though at a different restaurant this time. Liam also spends Saturday at a different flat, this one belonging to Niall. Again, Twelve is unsure of exactly which flat they are in. There is one building nearby that provides a decent vantage point but he is only able to view one side of Niall’s building from his post. When he does not see Liam, or recognize his profile, in any of the windows on the side he is able to see, he eventually concludes that they must be on the other side of the building and returns to the car. After two and a half more hours of waiting, however, Handler A says, “Fuck this,” and drives back to the bunker.

They are called to a meeting with the Director later that evening where they are reprimanded for failing their duties and leaving their post before ensuring that the target would not be heading anywhere else for the evening. The Director also announces that he is disappointed in how Handler A has been handling things in the bunker. He does not appreciate Handler A’s disregard for proper protocol and has made the decision to remove him from reward duty for the foreseeable future and dock his pay for the hours that he was absent from the field.

They are both dismissed shortly after this and Twelve is sent to the Discipline Rooms where the Doctor is waiting for him. He immediately undresses upon entering and waits for instruction. The room is set up similarly to the Procedure Rooms except that it is much larger and there are four metal tables instead of one. The Doctor gestures for Twelve to lay down on the table furthest to the right, then secures the leather straps across Twelve’s body. His heart rate and breathing become erratic again but he does his best to conceal the involuntary reaction as much as he can. The machine, which resembles a cross between the Procedure Room machine and the Testing Room machine with the addition of a large dial in the middle, hums to life as the Doctor presses a few buttons. He attaches electrodes to different points all over Twelve’s body and then presses another button.

Twelve hears the click of the dial turning and then there is the familiar feeling of sharp pain, as if he is being stabbed repeatedly and in rapid succession. The pain darts around his body, at the points where each electrode is connected, at random intervals. Sometimes it hits multiple points at once, sometimes it goes one by one, sometimes there is a brief pause, sometimes there is not. It jumps from one leg to his chest to both arms to his neck to his stomach and then to his other leg. Or it goes from one hand to both feet, then back up to his hip and his shoulder and then his stomach again, and then the order gets scrambled or reversed.

He clenches his jaw and grits his teeth, trying not to scream. It is not like the constant, steady pain of the Procedure Rooms where he can block everything out and escape to the light. Every time there is a brief pause and he feels himself starting to drift to somewhere else the pain starts up again and he is jolted right back to the present. If he screams here, he will not be able to escape the sounds. His body twitches and jerks uncontrollably but he tries to focus on breathing and on staying as quiet as he can.

He does not know how much time passes, whether it has been minutes or hours, but suddenly he hears the click of the door opening. He does not even recall hearing the Doctor leave the room but he comes in holding a styrofoam cup full of water, which he places on top of the machine. He turns the dial all the way down, clicking a few buttons, and the pain finally stops.

Twelve’s body sags against the table, drenched in sweat and still twitching slightly. The Doctor removes the electrodes, undoes the leather straps and then hands him the cup of water. He struggles to sit up, taking the cup with shaking hands when he finally does, and drinking it all without pausing to take a breath. The Doctor watches him, then takes the cup back and heads to the door, calling over his shoulder, “You’re dismissed as soon as you can stand,” just before he leaves.

Twelve, still twitching involuntarily, forces himself to stand on wobbly feet until he gets his bearings. As soon as he is sure he can walk, he gathers up his clothes and heads to the shower rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn’t clear the Daniel mentioned in this chapter is not Danny Riach but a genderbent version of Danielle Peazer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who might not know:
> 
> Trolley = shopping cart  
> Car park = parking lot

_Liam_

Things have been going better for Liam these past few weeks. He’s finally out of the rut he’d gotten sort of stuck in those first few weeks after The Incident That Shall Not Be Named, as Louis’ taken to calling it. He’s actually starting to feel like his life is getting back to normal. He’s been going out more, even dating again. He’d met Danny by chance when the office printer broke down and he’d had to call a printer repair service. Danny had saved the day, fixing the printer and, by extension, saving Liam from the wrath of his co-workers. And then he’d flirted with Liam despite the fact that he still looked like a train wreck with his bruised and bandaged face. It had taken Liam a while to work up the courage to actually call him though, much less go on a date with him, especially with everything that had been going on. But he thinks that’s probably for the best, for his sake and for Danny’s.

Those first few weeks he’d felt like the whole situation with Zayn was starting to take over his life. It was like everything he’d worked so hard to put behind him since he’d left for uni just came crawling right back to the surface. All those stupid feelings that he’d tried so hard to bury for so long had come back rearing their ugly heads and he felt like he was twelve years old all over again. Lost and confused and desperate for answers, but there weren’t any. And as worried as he was about Zayn, he couldn’t keep chasing a ghost forever. He’d still tried, in vain, to search for any information on Zayn or his family for a little while longer, but it was more half-hearted than anything. He just kept running into dead ends and eventually he decided he needed to move on with his life. There was nothing else he could do. Wherever Zayn was he clearly didn’t want to be found and judging from his reaction at the bank, or lack thereof, he could care less about Liam. He wasn’t the same Zayn that Liam had known all those years ago and Liam had to accept that, as hard as it was—as hard as it still is—to do.

At least he knows that Zayn is alive. It’s a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless after so many years spent not knowing. Although it makes him feel guilty knowing that Zayn’s family is still out there somewhere probably wondering, _hoping_ that their son might still be alive, while only Liam knows the truth. As incompetent as the police have proved themselves to be in the past though, he just has to hope that they’ll do a better job this time around and actually find Zayn and the people who took him. Because whoever they are, whatever their reasons for taking Zayn in the first place and turning him into some sort of half-starved, mindless zombie, they deserve to rot in jail for the rest of their lives and then some. And he hopes they get what they deserve.

Standing in the middle of the aisle at the supermarket with his parents, who are visiting for the day again, probably isn’t the best time to be ruminating on everything that’s happened over the last few weeks of his life though. He pushes all thoughts of Zayn out of his head and focuses on the aisle in front of him instead. He’s run out of tea and is at the supermarket restocking, trying to decide if he should go with his usual brand or branch out and try a new one, when he runs into Danny.

“Liam?”

Liam turns around, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Danny, hi,” he says, dropping the box of tea his mom had handed him earlier into his trolley and glancing nervously over his shoulder at his parents, whose attention is still on the shelves for now.

Danny points to the trolley, wrinkling an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like herbal tea.”

“It’s um…not for me. It’s for my mum.” His ears are burning and he lowers his voice so much that the last part comes out as an almost unintelligible mumble, but somehow his mum still manages to hear him and her attention snaps to Danny.

“And who’s this, then?” she says, coming up next to Liam and smiling, drawing his dad’s attention to them in the process.

“Um…Mum, Dad, this is Danny. We’re um…sort of dating.”

“Only sort of?” Danny teases, smirking.

Liam shoots him an annoyed look. His face is so hot he feels like he’s about to spontaneously combust and Danny isn’t exactly helping.

“Danny,” he grits out, “these are my parents.”

“Lovely to meet you, Danny,” his mum says, reaching out to shake Danny’s hand as his dad drops a couple of cans of milk into the trolley beside them.

“Likewise, Mrs. Payne.”

His dad steps forward for a handshake as well. “Good to meet you, Danny. Do you like chocolate chip biscuits? Karen’s made enough to feed a small army if you’d like to come back to Liam’s with us and chat for a little while, get to know each other a bit.”

Liam wants to melt into the floor. Why do his parents always feel the need to embarrass him when he introduces them to new people? They’d done the same thing when they met Louis, Harry, and Niall, sharing all sorts of embarrassing stories about him as a child. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mum decides to break out the baby pictures of him that she still keeps in her wallet and show them to Danny. Liam breathes a sigh of relief when he hears Danny’s reply though.

“I’d love to but I’m actually on my way to visit some friends at the moment. I just stopped to pick up a few things on the way, but maybe another time?”

“Yeah, I think another time would be better,” Liam says, cheeks still burning.

“Well, it was nice to meet you guys,” Danny says, nodding and waving, “I’ll see you later, Liam.”

“Yeah,” he mutters weakly.

Later, when they’re all in the car and Liam’s pulling out of his spot in the grocery shop car park, his mum says, “I see why you like him…he reminds me a bit of Zayn.”

Liam nearly rear-ends the car that’s been waiting patiently nearby to take his spot, his pulse spiking at the mention of Zayn’s name. But he wills himself to calm down as his dad nods in agreement. He reminds himself that they don’t know anything about Zayn being at the bank, they’re just pointing out similarities. And Liam will admit that he does have a type. Has always been drawn to tan skin and dark hair for reasons he wasn’t willing to admit to himself for a long time, though he’d tried hard to fight it. There had even been a period in his first year of uni—back when he’d still been trying to convince himself that he was bi—where he’d dated only blondes and redheads just to prove to himself that he could. He’d even invited the girl he was dating at the time to come home with him for Christmas in an effort prove to her and to himself that he was serious about their relationship. But that had ended in a shit show; to no one’s surprise but his own because at the time he’d been too afraid to admit to himself what everyone around him, including his parents apparently, already knew.

When he finally did get the guts to come out officially, Louis had thrown him a huge party. And because Louis never does anything half-assed that meant Liam had been forced to sit through multiple lap dances by a very enthusiastic male stripper with “My Super Sweet Sixteen” banners hanging everywhere. Except that Louis had crossed out the word “Sixteen” on all the banners and somehow managed to squeeze “Gay Coming Out Party” in black permanent marker in the space above. As much as he loves Louis, sometimes he can really be a downright obnoxious twat.

“Love, are you alright?” His mum says from the backseat, startling him out of his thoughts.

“What? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just…thinking.”

And there he goes again, getting distracted by thoughts of Zayn and lying to his parents. He’d thought he was past that, but apparently not.

“Thinking about how to get out of this parking spot?” His dad jokes at the same time as his mum says, “Thinking about Zayn or Danny?”

“Danny,” he says immediately, too fast apparently because he sees his mum give him a funny look in the rearview mirror like she knows he’s lying. But she doesn’t say anything and he forces out a nervous chuckle as a belated response to his dad’s joke, making his way out of the car park. He manages to keep his attention on the road for the rest of the drive home at least, so he counts that as a win.

When they get back to his flat he immediately puts the kettle on, pulling out the boxes of tea and cans of milk from their shopping bags and getting out mugs and spoons. He waits for the water to boil, debating whether or not he should just tell them the truth about Zayn. As far as he knows the case is still open, so he’d be breaking his own rule about waiting until it gets closed. But it’s been almost a month since he got called into the police station and they haven’t contacted him again since. And he can’t keep lying to his parents forever. If there’s anyone who’ll understand why he kept this whole thing a secret for so long, it’s them. And maybe telling them the truth will help him actually move past this whole thing instead of just trying to convince himself that he’s over it like he’s been doing.

“I have something I need to tell you guys,” he announces suddenly, his mouth moving faster than his brain. No going back now.

His dad, who’d been leaning on the kitchen counter, stands upright, eyebrows raised in concern while his mum turns towards him curiously. She’d been in the middle of putting things away and is still holding a can of milk in one hand as she waits for him to continue.

“I think maybe you should both sit down,” he says, taking the can of milk from her and putting it in the cupboard himself. She eyes him warily as she and his dad make their way to the couch and Liam turns the stove off and follows them, taking a seat in the recliner a few feet away.

There’s a few moments of tense silence as he tries to figure out the best way to say what he wants to say without them completely freaking out. They look over at him, waiting patiently for him to speak as the silence drags on. He fidgets nervously, messing with his hair and the hem of his shirt, trying to think, to focus, but his thoughts are all over the place. He has no idea where to even begin. After a full two minutes pass without him saying anything his mom finally says, “Liam, what’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and then just blurts out, “Zayn’s alive.”

So much for eloquence.

His parents stare at him, twin expressions of shock and bewilderment plastered across their faces and for one long, agonizing moment that tense silence is back. But then his dad takes in a sharp breath, running his hand through his hair, staring resolutely at the floor as his mum shakes her head back and forth.

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” she says. “How…how do you know that?”

Liam sighs, runs a hand over his face. “There are, um…there are some things I wasn’t entirely…honest with you about. About what happened at the bank and—”

“What do you mean?” his dad says softly.

“I—he was…he was there. Zayn was there.”

“At the bank?”

Liam nods. “He was the one who attacked me. But…”

“But what? Is there more?”

“Dad, he didn’t—I don’t know—it was like it wasn’t really him, like he wasn’t really there. I don’t even know how to _explain_ it. I don’t know what they did to him, but…it was almost like—like looking at a robot. He just looked so… _empty_. And when he looked at me, it was more like he was looking _through_ me than at me. He didn’t remember me at all. He didn’t even recognize his own _name._ And then he just slammed me down like it was nothing and when I came to…he was gone.”

There’s another beat of silence and then, “Oh, my God,” his mum says, pressing a hand to her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Mum,” he says, his voice cracking. He hates that he’s upset her, that he’s upset _both_ of them but they deserve to know, they’re the only ones who’ll get it.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she says softly, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill over. His dad shifts to wrap a comforting arm around his mum’s shoulders and she leans into his embrace.

Liam shakes his head, teary-eyed himself now. “I was too afraid. You _know_ how the cops can be when it comes to closing a case…you remember what they tried to do to Zayn’s parents when they couldn’t find any leads. They do it all the time, and I was just trying to protect myself. I didn’t want to lie to you guys…but I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

“Oh, love,” his mum says, reaching out to take his hand in hers as she wipes at her wet cheeks with her other hand. “You _always_ have a choice. I understand why you did it, I _do_. But you have to remember that they’re not all bad, you know. They’re doing the best they can and you keeping things from them doesn’t make their jobs any easier. You can’t keep living your life in this constant state of paranoia. And you can’t blame them _all_ for what happened with Zayn and his family.”

“But they barely even _tried_ , mum!” He says angrily, wiping harshly at his face before the tears have a chance to spill over. “And then they tried to pin the whole thing on his parents for God’s sakes. And you’ve seen the television specials about people getting sent to jail for _years_ based on nothing but circumstantial evidence. They almost did that to his _own parents_ when they didn’t even do anything wrong, and I didn’t want to end up in the same situation, not if I could help it. Besides, I told the police enough, even if it wasn’t everything. And if they do their jobs right this time and actually find him it won’t matter anyway whether I recognized him or not because he’ll be back with his family where he belongs.”

“ _God_ , his family,” she mutters, shaking her head and pressing her hand to her mouth again. “Have you found them? Do they know?”

“No…I tried for weeks to look for them, but…” he shakes his head, sniffling, “no luck. ”

“Christ, if only we’d stayed in touch with them…I mean, we tried, your dad and I, for those first few years after they moved away but after a while…I don’t know, we just drifted apart, I guess. They moved a couple more times over the years before we lost contact with them, but I have no idea where they live now.”

“Do you think I should keep trying to find them?”

“Well, it can’t hurt, can it?” His dad says.

“It could if the police don’t find him again.”

“Even if they don’t, his family deserves to know that he’s alive at least.”

Liam sighs, wiping at his face again. “I know. I just…I just wish things were different. I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish he’d never gone missing in the first place.”

“Of course,” his mom agrees. “So do we, love, and so does his family, I’m sure. But we can’t change the past. We just have to have hope that they’ll find him this time.”

“But what if they don’t? What if they never find him and he just goes on living his life like—like some sort of starving, mindless robot? What kind of life is that? I mean, _God_ , if you could’ve seen him…he was skin and bones, Mum, practically wasting away. I mean, he was always skinny, but _this_ , this was different. Even under all the gear and everything, he just looked _so small_.”

She reaches her hand out again to take his and squeezes his fingers reassuringly. “They _will_ find him.”

“You can’t know that,” he says, shaking his head and scrubbing a hand across his eyes.

“I _can_. Mother’s intuition.”

“Mum, I’m serious.”

“So am I. They’ll _find_ him, Liam. You just have to let them do their jobs. In the meantime, your dad and I will ask around too, see if we can find out anything about Zayn’s family or where they might’ve moved to.”

“Okay,” Liam says, nodding. He really hopes she’s right.

“And another thing, love, I know it’s hard having to deal with all of this all over again, and I understand why you never told the other lads about it. But given everything that’s happened I think maybe it’s time you tell them, don’t you think?”

Liam shakes his head. “Mum, I—”

“I’m not saying you have to do it right away, but at least think about it, alright? I know you got kind of used to being on your own for a while after everything that happened with Zayn, but you’re _not_ anymore, and you can’t keep your walls up forever. They’re your friends, Liam, they’ll understand. Just promise me you’ll at least think about it?”

He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, and then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” she says, jumping up from the couch. “Now that that’s settled, I’m going to go put the kettle back on because my mother’s intuition is also telling me that we’re all in need of some tea right about now.”

Liam’s dad chuckles softly and Liam shakes his head, but he manages to crack a smile as he follows his mum over to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, shouldn't be too long before the next one is up!
> 
> Update: After reading some of the comments I noticed that there was a bit of confusion where Danny was concerned and I just wanted to clarify that there are two Danny's: there's the Danny that Liam's dating (aka the male version of Danielle Peazer), and then there's Danny Riach (aka Handler D). 
> 
> There are no ulterior motives where Danny's concerned, he's just a regular guy. And the comment Liam's mom made about Danny reminding her of Zayn was just me trying to draw a connection between how I imagine a male version of Danielle would look compared to Zayn. I'm sorry for any confusion that may have caused, and if anyone needs further clarification or has any other questions please feel free to ask me in the comments section!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to get real, guys...

_Zayn_

The last few weeks have been relatively uneventful. Liam has so far maintained a fairly consistent and predictable schedule, with only occasional deviations. He has not attempted to contact the police on his own, nor have they contacted him again since he was first called into the police station almost five weeks prior. He does not appear to have discussed the events that occurred in the bank in any significant detail with any of his relatives, associates, or co-workers, other than occasional vague references. He also does not appear to have discovered any information on the program. Although he has used the code word Zayn a number of times over the past week in conversations with his parents, which Twelve finds strange.

Even after having had ample time—seven weeks to be precise—to re-analyze what he remembers of what occurred in the bank, Liam still seems to believe Twelve to be someone else, and appears to still be under the impression that this code word applies to Twelve. In perhaps what has been the most peculiar development so far, however, Liam even used the word as a name to refer to Twelve while recounting to his parents the events that occurred in the bank. Twelve does not understand it, but he simply dismisses it as another peculiarity of Liam’s, similar to his previous obsession with cults and terrorist organizations.

He has been at his post for approximately thirty-five minutes now and it appears to be another uneventful Wednesday, the only difference being that Liam returned home from work half an hour earlier than usual. Twelve is observing Liam as he sits on the couch watching the television when Handler A contacts him.

“Twelve,” Handler A says into his comms, “Get back to the car, we need to get back to base immediately.”

He does as he is told. When they return to base, however, the bunker is in chaos. All of the Nurses and Handlers are standing around in the corridors talking in hushed voices. Handler A orders Twelve to go back to the bunks and when he gets there he finds the entire team sitting on their beds. Something is clearly wrong if they have all been called back to base from their missions in the middle of the day but no one comes to tell them what. They sit in their bunks awaiting orders until lights out and, realizing that no one is coming to take them to the shower room, they eventually all go to sleep.

*

In the morning Handler C arrives to take them to the feeding room. When they enter, however, Twelve looks at the clock on the left wall of the room to discover that it is 0903 hours, two hours past their usual feeding time. Afterwards they are sent back to their bunks where they again await further instructions. Approximately six more hours pass before Handler D comes in. He walks into the room, his gaze immediately zeroing in on Twelve first, and then he looks around the room at all the other operatives and starts to speak.

“So, um…I’m sure you guys have realized by now that something’s happened. I’m not really sure how to tell you all this other than to just come right out with it, so…the Director’s dead. He had a heart attack in the middle of the night and was pronounced dead early yesterday morning, but we only got the news yesterday evening.”

He pauses for a moment, looking around the room as if he expects some sort of response but there are none.

“We’re uh…we’re still trying to figure out what to do so that’s why your schedules have been sort of crazy today…and I guess yesterday, too. I’m sure you all have probably noticed by now that we’re one Handler short. I don’t know how many of you know this, or if _any_ of you do, but Handler A’s kind of personally connected to this since he’s married to the Director’s granddaughter and all, so that’s why he’s been gone. Some of the higher-ups are gonna be here later to oversee things, but basically they want us to just keep operating as usual so things will probably start going back to normal after today. C—Handler C, I mean—will be back here in a bit to get you guys. We’ve been ordered to hold a small funeral procession for the Director, which is what the higher-ups are coming for, so you all will be outside for that. Um…I guess that’s it for now. Everything’s clear, right?”

“Yes,” they all answer in unison.

Handler D gets a strange expression on his face but then he shakes his head and leaves and they continue to sit in their bunks waiting for Handler C. When he arrives they all line up in two single file lines, evenly-spaced apart, and follow him down the corridor and outside. The plain red flag outside the bunker has been lowered to half-mast and all of the operatives are ordered to line up in front of it in rows of ten and salute as music is played. Men and women in suits stand in a row a few feet away from the flag, watching them. Twelve surmises that they must be the “higher-ups” Handler D was referring to.

After a while Twelve, along with Twenty-two, Eight, Six, Twenty-three, Twenty-four, and Five, are taken out of line and made to stand in a separate line on the opposite side of the flag from where the higher-ups are standing. The rest of the operatives remain in their lines, still saluting. The Handlers give Twelve and the six other operatives rifles and instruct them to shoot them into the sky three times in unison. Afterwards, they are ordered to salute again while the music plays for a little while longer and one of the male higher-ups talks about the Director and his legacy. The entire procession lasts approximately forty-five minutes and then they are sent back to the bunker to resume sitting and waiting. Handler C arrives on time later that evening to take them to the showers, and once they are all bathed and fully dressed in clean clothes they return to their bunks just in time for lights out.

*

The next morning, activity in the bunker seems to have at least partially returned to normal. They are woken up and brought to the feeding rooms and this time the clock reads 0701 hours. Afterwards, they are led to the training rooms where sparring sessions and ranking assessments are usually held for the other teams—none of the members of Alpha Team have needed to make use of the room for at least a year or more. A podium has been brought in and the higher-ups are all standing in a line at the front of the room just behind it. One of them, a woman with short brown hair and bright red lipstick, steps up to the podium once all the teams have been brought in and begins speaking.

“Hello, operatives. I’m sure that these last two days have been a very confusing time for you all, as they have for all of us. But we have called you here to this brief meeting today to discuss how things will proceed going forward…”

She continues to talk for approximately twenty minutes about the Director’s death, his legacy, and program protocols. Twelve does not understand why she is repeating information to them that they already know. The details of the Director’s death have already been disclosed to Alpha Team and, by now, most likely the other teams as well; and one of the other higher-ups spoke about the Director’s legacy in length only the day before. As far as protocols are concerned, the same protocols have been in place since the day Twelve woke up in the bunker, and from what she is stating it does not appear as if anything has changed. In the event that the Director is seriously injured, incapacitated, or otherwise unable to perform his duties, they are simply to resume activity as normal within the base until a suitable replacement is found.

After she is finished speaking they are dismissed and ordered to return to their bunks. Shortly afterwards some of the other operatives begin leaving with their Handlers to resume their missions. Twelve spends his time re-studying the map of the city Liam lives in until Handler A finally comes to get him seven and a half hours later, almost an hour later than they usually leave. Once they arrive at Liam’s flat Twelve manages to get to his post on the roof just as Liam is returning home from work. Liam follows the same routine that he usually does on Fridays. He watches the television for a couple of hours, briefly looks over a stack of documents while eating, exchanges a number of messages with Daniel, and later that evening leaves for the pub just as he does most Friday evenings. Handler A follows the car Liam gets in to ensure that that is where he is going, and then they turn back around and head back to base.

*

Despite the Director’s absence and the chaos that ensued in the first two days after his death, all routines in the base have since resumed as usual, although Handler A has become much more erratic and ill-tempered in the week since the Director’s death was announced. On multiple occasions he has arrived at the base late or left his post without warning while Twelve was still as his own post surveilling Liam, only to return at unpredictable times, sometimes hours after Liam has already gone to sleep. So far it appears that the higher-ups, who have been overseeing things in the bunker since the Director’s death, either have not yet noticed or are not as concerned as the Director was about Handler A’s disregard for protocol and punctuality.

Although Handler A arrived at the base on time today, however, they still arrive in the city much later than usual due to heavy traffic. Handler A mutters various obscenities every few minutes and honks his horn repeatedly during the drive and Twelve watches him curiously. He does not entirely understand the function of a car’s horn. He has noticed that people often seem to press it when frustrated or angry. But it does not appear to serve any particular purpose other than to notify others around of a driver’s current emotional state. Unless that is, in fact, its purpose. While it seems a rather strange custom, he supposes that it could be useful to know when another driver is upset, as it might alert others to the fact that that driver may be more likely to cause an accident.

When they reach Liam’s flat, thirty-eight minutes later than usual, Twelve gets out of the car and starts to head towards the fire escape. But Handler A rolls down the driver side window and calls him back.

“I’m going back to base,” he says. “Got a meeting with the higher-ups. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Twelve had not expected to get a warning, having begun to grow accustomed to Handler A’s leaving without preamble. But it appears that the higher-ups have taken notice of Handler A’s behavior, after all. He glances at Twelve as if expecting a response and Twelve notices that his eyes are bloodshot, the skin just below them sagging as if he has not slept. Handler A rubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“Right. Direct questions and orders only. Just…wait for me to comm you that I’m here. And you’d better be ready to go literally the _second_ I get here…understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he says, rolling his window back up and pulling off.

Hours later, Twelve is perched on the roof in his usual spot. He is watching Liam as he returns home over two hours late from work when he receives a message on his comms.

“Twelve?” It is not Handler A’s voice as he expects, but Handler D’s. He is unsure at first as to whether he should respond since he is still under orders to cease communication with Handler D but he supposes that Handler D would have had to receive authorization from Handler A to contact him in the first place. “Twelve, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” There is heavy static on his comms, which is unusual, but it is not enough to render Handler D’s voice unintelligible.

“Look, something’s happened here at the base.” His elevated breathing and the tone of his voice suggest that he is afraid. “Some men showed up a couple of hours ago, not long after Handler A came back from dropping you off. The program is being shut down. They’ve already killed most of the operatives that were here at the base and now they’ve started killing the Handlers. I don’t know how much time I have before they come for me too and I’m not sure how long it’ll be before they start searching for the operatives still out on missions but it’s not safe for you to come back here. They’re using code words to subdue operatives so you won’t be able to fight them, and they _won’t_ hesitate to kill you. No matter what happens, you _can’t_ come back here, okay? Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Twelve pauses. Operatives are not usually allowed to ask questions but occasionally during missions this protocol is waved when special circumstances warrant it. He supposes this could be considered a special circumstance. “Does this mean I will be meeting with Handler A at an alternative rendezvous point?”

“No. _No_. You’re not _getting_ it, Twelve. Forget about the rendezvous, okay? There _is_ no rendezvous—Handler A is dead. I watched them kill him. I _saw_ it. The entire program is being scrubbed. _Everything_. They’re burning documents, destroying the computers. It’s all gone. Protocol doesn’t exist anymore. _None of it_ exists anymore, none of it _matters_. Everything you do from here on out is about survival. Right now, it’s safest for you to stay where you are. I don’t know if you know this but your mission was off the books. No one else besides the Director, the Doctor, and Handler A was allowed to know the details, not even me, so even if they try to come looking for you they’ll have no idea where you are, they’ll have no idea which city you’re in. But you can’t let your guard down, you need to find some place to lay low for a while, avoid security cameras—”

Twelve hears gunshots go off in the background, five total, then distant shouting.

“ _Shit_ , look, I don’t have much time. I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again, but just promise me you’ll stay safe.”

Twelve is unsure of how to respond to this even though it is technically an order. He does not fully understand the civilian concept of making a promise as one can never guarantee that the circumstances agreed upon will not change in the future for unforeseen reasons. But his response does not seem to matter because soon he hears more shouting, two more gunshots, and then loud banging, as if someone is banging on a door.

“ _Shit_. I have to go. Just promise me you’ll try to stay safe, be a ghost like they trained you, okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’re different than the others—smarter, _stronger_. Don’t ever forget that,” he says in a rush. “If anyone can make it alone out there, it’s you…good luck, Twelve.”

There is another loud bang and one more gunshot and then the signal cuts off and his comms are silent.

Twelve is unsure of what to do next. If Handler A has been terminated and the program has been shut down then he supposes there is no need for him to continue with this mission. But Handler D did not assign him another mission. He also did not explicitly say that Twelve should abort this one. His only orders were to lay low, avoid security cameras, and stay safe. But that is no different than what he usually does during missions and has not needed to be said to him since he completed his second year of training, so he is unsure why Handler D would state it now. He supposes for now the most practical thing to do would be to continue with the mission until Handler D contacts him again with further instructions.

He resumes watching Liam as he goes about his routine, until night falls and Liam goes to sleep. The clock on the small table by Liam’s bed reads 11:39—2339 hours. Twelve wonders why Handler D has not contacted him again to check in. Before the Director’s death, Handler A usually contacted him around 2230 hours on weeknights to ask if Liam was asleep yet. He watches the clock as the numbers change from 11:39 to 11:40, then 11:58, then 12:24. All the while his comms stay silent. He watches Liam sleep for another hour, then finally decides to go to sleep himself. At first, it is difficult for him to fall asleep on the hard concrete of the rooftop surrounded by the noise of the city. But he concentrates on the dark clouds as they drift by, just as he has done so many times in his bunk at night or during feeding time in the mornings, and eventually he finds himself drifting off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in some of the visual references I use for inspiration for some of the characters or settings in the story check out my [#twelve fic](http://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/search/twelve+fic) tag on tumblr!


	11. Chapter 11

_ Liam _

It’s been almost two and a half months now since The Incident. Liam’s been working late most nights, racking up a ton of overtime hours trying to save up to get Nicola something special for her birthday, which is in two days. He’s had his eye on this silver locket sitting in the display window in the jewelry shop a few blocks down from his flat, and he’ll have just enough to afford it by Friday. He’s already asked his boss for the day off so after his direct deposit comes through he’s planning to go straight to the shop to get it first thing Friday morning before he makes the drive up to visit her. As he passes by the shop on his way home from work, he checks the display window to make sure the locket’s still there and lets out a little sigh of relief when he sees it is.

By the time he gets to his flat, it’s almost 8:30 and he’s exhausted, which is why he doesn’t immediately notice that his kitchen faucet is dripping slightly. He’s already changed into his pajamas and is heating up some leftovers in the microwave for a quick dinner when he notices the faint drip of the water. To anyone else it wouldn’t be that big of a deal but Liam has a tendency to notice small details. That and his sink handle has a trick to it that other people just can’t seem to get the hang of no matter how many times he shows them. It’s a simple jiggle and twist of either of the handles after you turn the faucet off, but without it after a few minutes the sink starts to drip. He’s so used to doing it by now that it’s become almost second nature though. Which is how he knows that someone else has been in his flat.

His first thought is that maybe his landlord Jerry finally sent someone from maintenance to try and fix it like he’s been promising to practically since Liam moved in. But there are no other signs that someone from maintenance was there. No muddy boot prints or spare parts or dirtied up rags lying around, not even a work order. And when Liam calls him to ask, Jerry says he didn’t send anyone. He tries to ask his closest next-door neighbor, a small Asian man, if he saw anything, but the man doesn’t speak much English. So after copious amounts of miming and repeating his question a third time, only to be met with a confused expression and a “No thanka you, I anot buying,” Liam gives up and goes back to his own flat.

While his dinner’s reheating for a second time in the microwave he walks around his flat, checking to make sure everything’s where he left it. The whole thing leaves him feeling suspicious, but there doesn’t seem to be anything missing and nothing else seems out of place, plus his door was still locked when he first came in. So he chalks it up to just being in a rush that morning and forgetting to make sure the faucet was turned off all the way because nothing else makes sense.

Who would break in just to use the sink and then leave without taking anything? And if someone _had_ broken in, how would they have been able to lock the door behind them after they left? Unless they came in through one of the windows. But Liam dismisses that thought almost as soon as it enters his head because it’s just too ridiculous to even consider. There _is_ the unsettling fact that only the first floor flats have windows that lock because the contractors were cheap bastards who probably figured the upper floors didn’t need them. But he lives all the way on the fourth floor and there’s no fire escape, just an emergency exit stairway that can only be accessed from the inside. So there’s no way someone would even be able to get to his window unless they had a fireman’s ladder or a grappling hook or something. Even though he knows it’s crazy though, just to reassure himself he goes to peek out his window, but of course there’s nothing there. His mum was right. He really needs to stop being so paranoid all the time before he drives himself mad.

*

Things only get stranger from there though. Other than Nicola’s birthday, which had gone off without a hitch, the next few weeks just seem to get weirder and weirder. Not only do his co-workers suddenly start acting nicer towards him for seemingly no apparent reason, but strange things also keep happening in his flat.

The week after the faucet mishap he’d been putting away groceries when he noticed a stray hair on the kitchen floor, darker and shorter than his own. At first he’d brushed it off, figuring he probably just tracked it in from outside or something. But then a few days later he woke up to find the telly remote—which he usually leaves right next to the candy dish on the coffee table—sitting slightly further to the left than where he was sure he left it the night before. And a few days after that he came back home to find his bedroom door closed halfway when he was sure he left it all the way open. He keeps waking up or coming home to find things different from how he left them and it’s really starting to freak him out.

A couple of days after the first incident, when he’d had some time to calm down and actually think about things rationally, Liam had come to the conclusion that it was probably just his friends playing some sort of elaborate prank on him. Even though he knew that Louis usually got off early on Wednesdays, which was when the faucet incident had taken place, he hadn’t thought to make the connection until much later. Using the spare key Liam had given him to sneak in and mess with his stuff, while convincing Harry and Niall to go along with it, seemed like exactly the sort of ridiculous scheme Louis would cook up.

But the longer it goes on the more Liam starts to wonder if he might actually be going crazy. There’ve been times when Louis’ taken a joke too far, sure, but there’s no way he would actually go so far as to sneak into Liam’s flat in the middle of the night just to move his remote a couple of inches. Even for Louis’ standards, that’s way too over the top and seriously creepy, like stalker-level creepy. But Liam doesn’t know what else to think.

His landlord is the only other person with a spare key. But he walks with a limp and practically hacks up a lung every five minutes because he smokes like a million cigarettes a day. He’d never be able to sneak in and out of Liam’s flat in the middle of the night without being heard. None of it makes any sense though. Who else would be able to get in and out of a flat undetected while still being able to lock the door behind them if not someone with a key? And if it’s not Louis or Jerry then who else could it be?

When he comes home one day to find his tea mug moved not just slightly, but to the complete opposite side of the counter from where he left it that morning, he just about has a mental breakdown. This whole thing is driving him completely insane and he’s at his wits’ end. Every time he opens his door he’s afraid of what he’ll find. He’s never been one to really believe in ghosts in more than an abstract sense but he’s starting to wonder if maybe he’s being haunted. He knows how ridiculous it sounds, but there doesn’t seem to be any other explanation. Jerry’s assured him that no one else has access to the master keys and threatened to evict him just for calling too many times, though Liam’s pretty sure they’re empty threats. And Louis’s sworn up and down that it’s not him, claiming that Harry and his co-workers can attest to him either being at work or at home when most of the incidents occurred. So Liam’s at a complete loss.

He’s seriously considering making an appointment with a shrink and is on the phone telling Harry as much when he walks into his flat to find Zayn standing in front of the telly, remote in hand. He nearly drops his phone out of shock, coming to an abrupt halt just in front the doorway, unable to believe his own eyes at first. He can still hear Harry chattering on through the phone, but it’s just background noise compared to the roaring in his ears that started the second he spotted Zayn in the middle of his living room. He can’t even process anything Harry’s saying anymore.

“Haz, I have to go. I’ll call you back.”

“Wha—”

But he’s no sooner hung up the phone than Zayn is gone. One second he’s standing in front of the telly, the next he’s jumping out the open window like he hadn’t just been four stories up from the ground. And all in the span of barely a blink. Or at least that’s how it feels to Liam. The remote is still clattering against the coffee table where Zayn dropped it as Liam rushes to the window and peers down, but there’s no sign of Zayn anywhere. He’s gone. The only proof he was even there in the first place is the sound of the telly, which drones on in the background as Liam scans the nearby streets to no avail.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day woot! Happy Labor Day Weekend! :)

_Zayn_

It has been exactly two weeks since the program was shut down and Twelve is beginning to feel delirious and disoriented. The physical modifications he underwent shortly after first waking up in the bunker allow him to survive for weeks on end without being fed. However, he cannot go nearly as long without proper hydration. In the bunker they were usually given two cups of water each, one in the morning just before they were taken to the feeding rooms, and one in the evening after they exited the shower rooms. On the first morning after the program shutdown Twelve had attempted to drink from a puddle of rainwater that had collected in one corner of the roof. Within mere hours, however, he began to feel nauseous and to defecate uncontrollably. The stench in the corner of the roof he had reserved for relieving himself had lingered for days until it rained again and his waste was mostly washed away. He has not attempted to drink from it again since.

He also still has not heard from Handler D. So despite the onset of severe dehydration making his mission increasingly harder, he has continued to monitor Liam to the best of his abilities. Without anyone to give him orders, however, he is left to his own thoughts. As the days pass and he continues to watch Liam, an idea begins to form in his head. He remembers Handler D telling him that protocol does not exist anymore and he finds himself wondering what that means for him. He has never known a world without protocols, without orders. If there are no longer protocols to break, then what are his limits? If he does something without being ordered to, does that mean he will not be punished? In the bunker these would have been considered dangerous thoughts. But if what Handler D said is to be believed, the bunker does not exist anymore, therefore the rules that applied there no longer matter. Before, breaking into a target’s flat without being ordered to do so would have warranted the most extreme of punishments. But now, there is no bunker for him to be punished in, no protocols in place to even warrant him being punished. If everything he does from now on is about survival, as Handler D said, then he must do whatever he has to.

Liam has clean running water in his flat, from the sink in his kitchen. Twelve knows it is clean because he has seen Liam fill up a cup of it to drink from on numerous occasions. Breaking in would be fairly simple. All along the building’s brick walls there are small grooves, gaps no more than a few inches in diameter every four bricks across which are most likely only there for aesthetic purposes. But it means that scaling the wall will not be a problem. He has also never seen Liam lock his windows. In fact, he is unsure of whether or not Liam’s windows even have locks. But the small knife he keeps sheathed on the back of his belt loop would make quick work of that too either way.

Despite initially formulating this plan ten days after the shutdown, however, he holds off on going through with it at first, waiting to see if Handler D will contact him again. The thought has crossed his mind that perhaps he misinterpreted Handler D’s words, so he surmises that it might be best to wait for further clarification before he does something so drastic. But he can feel himself growing weaker and weaker as the days pass, and he knows that if he waits too much longer he will not even have the strength to walk, much less climb.

He waits until a couple of hours after Liam has already left for work, when he knows that most of the other occupants of the building will be gone as well. Then he makes his way down the fire escape, across the stretch of cracked pavement that lies between the two buildings, and up the wall. He climbs up to Liam’s window, moving as quickly as he can knowing that he could very easily attract unwanted attention by doing this in the middle of the day, especially dressed in all black. There are not many people walking around at this time of day though, most of them having already left for work or school, so the chances of him being spotted are low. With his strength so diminished it is a struggle to hold himself up with one arm while unsheathing his knife with the other when he gets to the window. But he plants the tips of his boots firmly in the grooves on the wall and manages to get the knife out and slip it between the window edge and the sill. There is no lock, so a small thrust of the knife is all it takes to nudge the window open just enough for him to fit his fingers in the gap and slide it the rest of the way open. Re-sheathing his knife, he hauls himself up and through the opening, landing softly on his feet inside.

He immediately zeroes in on the sink, which is on the other side of the counter, but pauses for a moment as a wave of nausea and dizziness passes over him from the overexertion, the room starting to blur. When it does not immediately pass though he forces himself to move forward, stumbling toward the small kitchen and leaning heavily against the counter. Pressing his forehead to the cool countertop, he hunches over it and waits, counting his breaths until they begin to even out. After a few minutes, when the room finally comes back into focus and the nausea and dizziness start to fade, he makes his way around the counter to the sink, drinking until he no longer feels quite so disoriented and breathless. Then he makes his way back out the window, closing it and climbing the rest of the way back down the wall.

Hours later, after Liam has returned home almost three hours late from work, Twelve notices that he appears upset by something he sees in the kitchen. Using his binoculars to get a closer look, he sees that what is bothering Liam is the sink faucet, which is dripping. Twelve finds this strange because he is sure that it was not dripping when he left or he would have heard it. Nevertheless, the fact remains that it is dripping now and Liam appears to be quite distressed by this. He makes a call, and then leaves briefly, but when he returns he appears to be even more upset than when he left.

Twelve watches as Liam moves around his flat in rushed spurts. He goes from the main room to his bedroom and then back into the kitchen, opening and closing drawers and cupboards, shifting things around and then putting them back where they were. After a few minutes though Liam seems to have mostly settled down. He does take a moment to glance out of his window, the same one that Twelve broke into earlier. But he looks down instead of up and does not even spare the abandoned building a second glance before he goes back to the kitchen and finishes preparing his food.

Twelve realizes that he has now broken not just one, but two former protocols. Not only did he act of his own volition without being ordered to, but he also failed to remain undetected in doing so. He failed to act as a ghost. Protocols may not exist as he knows them anymore but he is still an operative, his main purpose is to follow orders. Yet today he failed to follow one of only three direct orders that Handler D gave him. Even though the Discipline Rooms might have been destroyed, however, that does not guarantee that Handler D will not still punish Twelve when he finally makes contact with him.

*

In the weeks that have passed since Twelve first broke into Liam’s flat he has had ample time to re-analyze his actions and the possible consequences, and has since come to one conclusion. Handler D is not here. Therefore, when he does eventually contact Twelve he will have no way of knowing that he disobeyed a direct order. There is no one here to monitor his actions, no witnesses to his insubordination. So, over the past three weeks, Twelve has broken into Liam’s flat periodically every few days. Sometimes he only goes in for water, though now he makes sure to drink from the sink in the shower room, which does not appear to leak. Other times he goes in just to explore, occasionally, even moving things around. In a way it is a test, not only for Liam but also for himself. He has been trained to act as a ghost, but never before has he had the opportunity to explore what that really means. By testing the limits of how much he can do without being noticed he finally has a chance to find out. But it also allows him to see just how observant Liam is.

He finds that it is a rather fascinating way to pass the time, much more fascinating than simply sitting and waiting for Liam to return home. Furthermore, it gives him a chance to better understand civilians and the way they live in a way he never could before on previous missions. It also allows him to better understand Liam. He learns that if he moves something less than an inch or two away from where Liam has left it, he will most likely not notice the change. Anything more than that, however, causes Liam to become agitated. This is then usually followed by a phone call either to his associate, Louis, or to a man named Jerry, or both. Thus far, Twelve is still not entirely sure of what Jerry’s relationship to Liam is. Although it is clear from their phone conversations that he lives in the building and has access to Liam’s flat, based on the way Liam converses with Jerry he does not appear to be an associate of Liam’s. Twelve does not understand it, but he simply adds it to the growing list of peculiarities that he has noted in his time spent observing civilians.

Lately, every time he breaks in to Liam’s flat, he has been pushing his boundaries more and more, staying for longer periods of time, moving things around more, even sneaking in while Liam is asleep. The object that entrances him the most, however, is the television. There seems to be an endless amount of things available to watch on it and the myriad of facial expressions, accents, and styles of dress of the people displayed on it intrigue him. So much so that sometimes he even loses all sense of focus on his surroundings, overwhelmed by all of the sights and sounds, which is precisely how he ends up getting caught.

Under normal circumstances Twelve would have heard Liam’s footsteps down the corridor long before he even made it to his flat, or at the very least heard the sound of his keys clinking together as he unlocked the door. But Twelve is so captivated by the television that he does not even register anything else at all until he hears the click of the door being shut, followed by Liam’s voice. He has come home a full two hours earlier than usual and Twelve is caught completely off guard. Liam simply stares at him and, unsure of what else to do, Twelve drops the remote and jumps out of the window. Then he bounds across the stretch of pavement and through a narrow doorway on the ground floor of the abandoned building as fast as he can.

Hunched over and shrouded in darkness in the farthest corner of the room, he sits and waits for hours, unsure of whether or not Liam saw where he went or if he is going to come looking for him. Perhaps he will even report him to the authorities. But when it starts to get dark outside and there is still no sign of Liam, he concludes that Liam must not have seen where he went after all. He makes his way back outside, doing a quick sweep around the perimeter to make sure there is no one lurking around the building before he heads back up to his post on the roof. He is surprised, however, to find that Liam’s window is still open.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ - IMPORTANT PSA REGARDING CH. 12 [AND THIS CHAPTER]:
> 
> I have added five paragraphs worth of content to the end of that chapter (everything after the asterisk), without which the beginning of this chapter won’t make much sense so please make sure to go back and read that before you begin this one!
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving! And for those of you who may not celebrate Thanksgiving, Happy Thursday!

  _Liam_

Ever since Liam came home to find Zayn in his flat a little over a week ago he’s been constantly on edge. Though more so out of excitement than fear. Instead of worrying about coming home to find his things moved, now he finds himself looking forward to it. Realizing that all that time it had been Zayn in his apartment, and not some super creepy stalker or cat burglar, had filled him with so much relief he couldn’t even put it into words. Zayn could have gone anywhere, but he’d come to _Liam_. He’d been in his _flat_ , just watching the telly in the middle of the day like a normal person. And, despite how Zayn had reacted at the bank and the fact that he’d literally jumped out of a four-story window to get away from Liam, he couldn’t help but wonder if there might still be some remnant of his friend in there. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance, however small, that Zayn might remember him after all. That maybe what had happened in the bank had all just been an act to appease the people he was with. Of course, there was a very high chance that this was all just wishful thinking on Liam’s part, but the possibility was still there and that was what mattered.

On the plus side though he’s finally figured out why his co-workers have suddenly started being so nice to him. Rumors have been swirling around the office that his boss, David, is planning to make some major pay cuts right after the start of the new quarter, which is coming up in just a few days now. According to the rumor, Liam will have the final say as to whose paycheck will be taking a cut since he spends more time on the floor, observing and interacting with the other brokers, than David himself does.

Liam isn’t sure where this rumor started, or if there’s even any credence to it for that matter. David has yet to say anything to him that would suggest he was even thinking of putting Liam in charge of that sort of thing. But Liam has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, which is why so far, whenever someone asks him about it, he simply responds that he can neither confirm nor deny the rumor. And presto. No more midday coffee runs or copyboy errands for him. Now if someone needs him, instead of yelling out his name insistently, _they_ come to see _him_ in David’s office. He even managed to convince one of the brokers to get _him_ coffee for once. Granted, the man was already on his way down to get a coffee for himself anyway. But still, there was a sweet kind of irony in watching the guy slowly make his way across the main floor and into David’s office with Liam’s steaming cup of coffee, trying desperately not to spill it. Respect had never tasted so good.

He finds himself smiling dopily at the memory now as he takes a sip of the pint Niall just poured him, but nearly spills it when someone comes up behind him and claps him hard on the back.

“Liam, mate, is that a smile I see?” Louis says, somehow still managing to be obnoxiously loud even over the din of the pub as he and Harry take their usual seats next to him. “Right then, what’s got you in such a good mood? Did you get a promotion or something?”

“Of sorts,” Liam says, grinning.

“’Of sorts’? What does that even mean? How do you sort of get a promotion?”

“Give him a chance to answer, why don’t you, Lou?” Harry says.

Louis rolls his eyes at Harry, but turns back to Liam expectantly and says, “Well?”

Liam shrugs, still unable to contain his smile. “I mean, it’s not really a promotion, but remember a few weeks back when I told you guys how everyone at the office just started being nice to me out of the blue and I couldn’t figure out why?”

“You figured it out then?” Niall asks, as he slides Louis and Harry’s pints across the counter to them.

“I got one of the interns to crack. Apparently there’s a rumor going around that David’s put me in charge of pay cuts for the next quarter so everyone’s been sucking up to me trying to make sure I don’t pick them to take a hit.”

“So basically what you’re saying is they’re all your bitches till it comes time for pay cuts?” Louis says, grinning now, too.

“Precisely,” Liam replies, smirking. “The other day I even got one of the brokers to get _me_ a coffee, if you can believe it. Joke’s on them though, cause as far as I know David’s not even planning on putting me in charge of that sort of thing anyway.”

Louis is grinning from ear to ear now in pure glee. “So not only do you have the _entire_ office at your beck and call, but they’re all kissing your arse for nothing? And they don’t even know it?”

Liam nods and Niall bursts out laughing, Harry following close behind as Louis unleashes his most proud smile, and clinks his glass against Liam’s.

“Liam— _our Liam_ —taking advantage of people in their weakest hour and reveling in it,” he says as he shakes his head. “Never thought I’d see the day…I’ve taught you well, young grasshopper.”

Niall pours them all shots and, still giggling, raises his own shot glass in a toast, the others quickly following suit.

“To Liam being a badass,” he says in between giggles.

“Oi, oi!” Louis shouts as they all down their shots.

“God, I hate vodka,” Harry mutters, making a face as he pushes his empty shot glass back over to Niall.

“But that one was strawberry flavored, and you love strawberries,” Niall counters, “I thought you’d like it!”

“Strawberry flavored shit still tastes like shit though, doesn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t know, mate, not my area of expertise.”

“I hate you,” Harry says, flopping his head down on the table dramatically.

“Love you, too, buddy.”

Louis snickers, plucking Harry on the cheek as Niall collects the rest of their shot glasses. Liam’s just finished his pint when he hears the faint buzz of Niall’s phone on the other side of the counter and sees Niall promptly go red when he glances at the screen.

“What? What is it?” Harry says, perking up at Niall’s reaction.

Niall doesn’t say anything, just glances nervously at Liam for a split second before collecting his pint glass to refill it.

“What’s going on?” Louis says, glancing back and forth between Liam and Niall. “You two keeping secrets from us now or something?”

Liam shrugs, at a loss as to what’s going on himself as Niall passes his refilled glass back to him. Louis’ glass is still half full but Niall takes it and refills it too anyway, probably more for something to do than anything else. His phone buzzes again and he looks at it, types out a message, and then glances meaningfully over at Liam again. Liam feels like there’s something important here that he’s missing but he has no idea what it could be.

He hears Niall’s phone buzz again, there’s another seemingly meaningful glance to which Liam still doesn’t know how to respond, and then he watches him type out another message. Finally Niall looks up at all of them, gaze lingering on Liam as he sighs exasperatedly.

“So, um…I have news, too, I guess. I thought it might be better to wait to tell you guys till things got a little more serious—although Liam’ already knows—but I’ve been, um, seeing someone.”

Liam suddenly feels like an idiot. He’s been so preoccupied with his own problems lately that he’d completely forgotten about Niall’s dating dilemma.

“As in a girl-someone?” Louis says.

“Yeah,” Niall replies, face going bright red again. “We’ve been seeing each other a few months now and she really wants to meet you guys so—”

“A few _months_?” Louis exclaims, “You’ve been seeing this girl for _months_ and you’re only just now telling me and Harry about her while Liam’s known this whole time?”

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry admonishes.

“What? Am I not allowed to be at least a little bit miffed at the fact he kept this relationship a secret from us for months but had no problem telling Liam all about it?”

“It’s not like that, Louis, I swear,” Niall counters.

“Oh, then what’s it like, Niall? Please, enlighten me.”

“It’s just, you can be a bit much, you know? And I didn’t wanna risk messing this up.”

“How would _I_ mess it up? I haven’t even met her!”

“You have actually, quite a few times, which is part of the reason why I didn’t want to tell you at first. I was nervous enough as it was when we first started dating, and I knew if I told Harry it’d eventually get back to you, and once you found out who it was you’d never let me—or her—hear the end of it. I needed to talk to someone and Liam felt like the safest option at the time.”

“Whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes, “who even is this all-important mystery girl anyway?”

“Her name’s Sarah, she’s a barista at that coffee shop we go to sometimes, Perks and Rec…the one you said you thought had a crush on me?”

“ _No way_ ,” Louis says, now sporting a close-lipped smile, clearly trying to hold back his laughter as he looks back and forth between Liam and Niall again. “You’re not serious, are you?”

Niall goes bright red again and Liam glares at Louis, hoping he’ll take the hint and drop it. But it’s Louis, so of course he doesn’t.

“Oh, my God, _you are_? You’re _seriously_ dating the barista? He’s _seriously_ dating the barista?” He says, turning back to Liam in disbelief. “Alright, that’s fair, I probably _would’ve_ taken the piss out of you for that if you’d told me…still might, actually. But I rescind all previous statements of outrage.”

“I’m really happy for you, Nialler,” Harry says, reaching across the counter to give Niall a fist bump.

“Thanks, mate,” Niall says, returning the fist bump with a bashful smile. “That’s only part of it though…she just texted me and she wants to come and meet you all properly.”

“What, tonight?” Liam says and Niall nods.

“She’s on her way now. Didn’t really give me much of a choice about it,” he says, grinning like a loon. “She gets like that sometimes—bit of a free spirit, she is, but once she gets her mind set on something, that’s pretty much the end of it.”

“A woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to take charge, sounds like just your type,” Louis jokes.

“Piss off,” Niall says, laughing.

But Louis just raises his glass and says, “Way ahead of you, mate!”

Liam raises his glass and motions for Harry to follow before he says, “To Niall and a successful love life!”

“To Niall!” Louis and Harry echo, Niall quickly pouring himself a shot to partake in the toast with.

“To best mates!” he shouts gleefully, clinking his tiny glass against their three big ones and downing his shot while the rest of them take large swigs from their own glasses.

He’s no sooner slammed his shot glass back down on the counter though before his phone is buzzing again.

“Shit, she’s here. Alright, everyone just be nice and no barista jokes, _please_?” he says, looking pointedly at Louis.

“Fine, fine,” Louis says, throwing his hands up in mock surrender, “No barista jokes, promise.”

Niall glances to his right and Liam follows his gaze, spinning around in his bar stool to find the girl from the coffee shop standing by the door. She shoots a quick wave to Niall as she makes her way over to them taking a seat in the empty stool to Liam’s left.

“Lads, this is Sarah. Sarah this is—”

“Oh, like I don’t know them all already, served them all coffee enough times, haven’t I?” she says, smiling as she points to each of them in turn. “Liam, Louis, and Harry, or as I like to refer to you, Extra Sugar, No Sugar, and Tea Not Coffee. So, what are we drinking, then?”

Niall smiles. “Only the best for the lads. Stella Artois, of course. Second round.”

“Oh, well, I better catch up then. Bartender, pour me two!”

“I like her already,” Louis says, taking a swig of his beer. “Niall, this one just might be a keeper!”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Sugarless…if loud, annoying guys with chest tattoos were my type, that is.”

“Oh, burn!” Liam exclaims as Sarah throws her head back, gulping down almost the entire glass in one go.

“A woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind and can hold her liquor? This just might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Louis says, raising his glass to Sarah. “All in favor of another toast?”

“Aye!” Liam, Harry, and Niall all shout as Niall refills another shot glass for himself.

“To Sarah!” Louis says.

“To me!” Sarah shouts as the others echo Louis, clinking their glasses together and taking large swigs from them as Niall throws back his shot.

 

All in all, it’s a really good night. The best Liam’s had in a while. And, despite the raging hangover he wakes up with the following morning, the memory of it keeps him in fairly good spirits for the next few days at least, before reality comes crashing back in.

*

Unfortunately things aren’t nearly as good on the Zayn front. It’s been over two weeks now since he last saw Zayn and he’s still gotten absolutely nowhere on the never-ending-rabbit-hole-internet-hunt that is searching for Zayn’s family. His parents’ luck hasn’t been much better either. They’d tried asking around and talking to some of their neighbors, but it hadn’t revealed any more information than what they already knew, so they’re basically back to square one. He hasn’t told them yet about Zayn being in his flat. He still feels like it’s too soon, and he doesn’t want to get their hopes up on the off chance that Zayn doesn’t come back. But he’s left his window open everyday since, in the hopes that he might. So far though Liam has yet to notice any more of his things being moved or anything else out of the ordinary. He can’t help worrying if maybe he did something to scare Zayn away. Maybe he’d been too loud on the phone or made a strange face or something and that’s why Zayn ran off and hasn’t been back since.

Ever since he hit the two week mark, he’s been driving himself mad agonizing over every little detail, trying to remember everything he did leading up to that fateful moment to pinpoint just what he did wrong. He’s spent the last few nights lying awake in bed, replaying the moment over and over in his head, but he still can’t figure it out. He’s beginning to lose hope that Zayn might ever come back at all, but he’s trying hard not to let it get to him.

Currently though, his efforts to not let it get to him—which pretty much consist of watching random reruns of old sitcoms and eating his feelings—are failing pretty miserably. He can’t sleep so he’s got nothing better do. But he feels like a teenage girl in some cheesy 80’s movie waiting desperately by the phone for some boy to call him, or in his case, for said boy to sneak into his fourth floor flat window again.

He’s being ridiculous and he knows it, but he can’t help it. He should be focusing on what he’s going to wear on his date with Danny tomorrow night. But instead he just keeps shoveling spoonfuls of ice cream into his mouth, his gaze drifting back to the window every few minutes as if Zayn’s just going to come waltzing in to watch the telly with him in the middle of the night. He needs a distraction, something to keep him occupied, get him out of his head for a bit. He looks around the room briefly, hoping to find some sort of inspiration, and belatedly realizes he hasn’t cleaned in a while. He figures now’s as good a time as any, might as well kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Cleaning turns out to be just what he needed, the perfect distraction from his Zaynmania. He zips through the bathroom and the kitchen in no time at all, breezes through his bedroom, before moving on to the living room. He doesn’t even stop to think about the fact that it’s 12:30 at night until someone suddenly starts banging loudly on his door while he’s in the middle of vacuuming. It’s Jerry because of course it is. Apparently, the people in the flat below him have filed a noise complaint. But while in any other case this would’ve been Liam’s third strike, it’s late and Jerry’s feeling nice so he’s letting Liam off the hook with just a warning. Liam starts to ask what his first strike even was but thinks better of it. This clearly isn’t the time. The last thing he needs right now is to end up homeless all because he didn’t know when to shut his mouth. On the bright side, he was able to get most of his flat cleaned before he was interrupted. But now he’s out of a distraction and he still can’t sleep. So back to eating his feelings and staring forlornly out the window, it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry for the long wait guys! Things have been so crazy for me these past couple of months, not to mention this chapter was a real struggle to write :( I'm still not totally satisfied with it but I hope you guys enjoyed it. The next chapter's already mostly written, I just have to go back and do a few more minor edits before I post it, but it should be up within the next few days or next week at the latest. Make sure to comment and leave kudos, and I hope you guys have a great weekend!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! :)

_Zayn_

Although Liam has otherwise continued to go about his normal routine as the weeks have passed, he has left his window open everyday since he caught Twelve in his flat. But while Twelve still goes in periodically for water, he does not linger any longer than he needs to anymore, nor does he move things around. He has no intention of getting caught again, though he is unsure if it would even matter at this point.

It has been eight weeks and two days since Handler D last contacted him and he is beginning to wonder now if the gunshot he heard just before his comms went silent mean that Handler D was terminated. It had not occurred to him in the moment, or even in the weeks afterwards, as he had simply assumed that it was just another gunshot going off in the background. Judging from the sound, it had not seemed to be any louder than the others, which would suggest that the shot had been intended for someone other than Handler D, someone farther away. But it is possible that the heavy static that plagued his comms that day may have muffled or even distorted the sound slightly so that it did not seem as loud as it actually was. Regardless of which theory holds the most merit, however, he has had a lot of time to replay the events as he recalls them, and he has come to the realization that this is most likely the reason Handler D has not contacted him again since the shutdown. While he cannot be completely sure that this is the case though, he also knows that he cannot continue to survive waiting on Handler D’s aide when it might never come.

Over the almost two-month span in which he has been on his own, the stench of his own body odor has become almost unbearable. He has also gone just as long without being fed and it seems the repercussions of this are finally starting to catch up to him. He can feel himself growing weak and disoriented again, though this time it is from lack of nutrients instead of hydration. So far, however, all of his attempts to remedy both situations have been unsuccessful.

Operatives do not feed nor bathe themselves. Civilians do, as do Handlers and Nurses—although he has never actually witnessed either of the latter bathing themselves—but operatives do not. At the base they would always wait for a Nurse to feed them in the mornings or bathe them shortly before it was time for lights out. He is aware that he does not have the best grasp on how certain things work outside of the bunker. But he figures that if he can at least find a Nurse they might be able to help him, even if they go about things a bit differently than how he is used to. So far though Twelve’s attempts to locate a Nurse to assist him have been ineffective.

The first Nurse he located was also a resident in Liam’s building. After observing her briefly and learning her schedule, he had stood by the main entrance early in the morning awaiting her exit. But even though he was standing at attention within her line of sight, as operatives are instructed to do when they are in need of a Nurse’s services while unaccompanied by a Handler, she had simply walked past him without acknowledging him. So he went back to his post on the roof and waited until she returned. Again, later that afternoon, he had stood waiting by the building’s main entrance as she entered, but again she did not acknowledge him. Not knowing of any other way to get a Nurse’s attention, for two more days he had repeated his actions, only to get the same response. So, on the fourth day he decides to follow her, theorizing that at some point she must go to confer with other Nurses, perhaps at some sort of civilian equivalent of a Nurse’s Station, like the Nurses at the base had. He figures that if she will not help him, then maybe one of the other Nurses will.

He follows her as she walks five blocks to a facility that he remembers was labeled as a hospital on the map of the city he studied back in the bunker. After watching her enter, he waits briefly to ensure that she does not realize she is being followed. Then he enters the building himself, avoiding looking directly at the security cameras and making sure that his muzzle is securely in place.

Upon entering he is not able to locate her again, but he does locate another Nurse standing a few feet away from the large desk in the center of the room. She appears to be looking for someone and he wonders if perhaps the other Nurse had noticed him after all and had notified this one that he was coming. After seeing a Doctor weaving through the hallway in the distance, however, he is suddenly struck with the realization that there is a chance he could be punished for being sloppy and allowing himself to be noticed so easily.

While he knows that there are Doctors who deal only with civilians, he has no way of knowing which Doctors here work with civilians and which ones work with operatives, if any of them do. What sets him even more on edge, however, is that the hallways of the hospital bear a striking resemblance to the hallways of the bunker, right down to the pristine grey floors, the smell of chemicals, and the whirring of machines in the background. He has never actually been inside a hospital before though, so he has no idea if the similarities he is picking up on have something to do with this hospital somehow being distantly connected to the program, or if all hospitals look like this. For all he knows, none of the Doctors and Nurses here are even aware of the program or the fact that he is an operative, though he cannot be sure of this either. But at the moment his foremost concerns are simply getting fed and ridding himself of this stench, and if he gets punished for that there is nothing he can do about it either way.

He comes to a halt in front of the Nurse who still appears to be looking for someone, but she stops when she sees him. Standing at attention just two feet away from her he waits for her to lead him to either a shower room or a feeding room, or to at least direct him toward another Nurse who will bathe and feed him. But she simply stares at him, an expression of confusion on her face.

“Sir, can I help you?” she says.

“Yes.”

Her gaze travels down to his feet, then back up to his face and lingers. She appears to be waiting for something but he is unsure what.

“Okay…well, you don’t look like you’re injured. Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Are you here _with_ someone then?”

“No.”

“Are you here to visit someone?”

“No.”

“Do you need to be admitted to the hospital?”

“I do not know.”

She sighs, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment. “Okay, well, have you signed in?”

“No.”

“Well, you’ll need to sign in at the front desk before you can be admitted,” she says slowly, enunciating her words, as she points towards the large desk to her left.

Twelve notes to himself that this facility appears to have strange protocols, but he follows the Nurse’s instructions and goes to stand in front of the desk where a man is typing at a computer.

“Name?” says the man.

“Twelve.”

“No, your _name_ , honey.”

“Twelve.”

The man stops typing and looks at him, one eyebrow raised as his gaze flicks over Twelve. “Your _name_ is Twelve?”

“Yes.”

The man rolls his eyes. “Alright, whatever. Last name?”

“I do not have one.”

“You don’t have a last name?” The question sounds closer to a statement than anything else, and the tone of the man’s voice is strange, but not unfamiliar. He remembers hearing some of the Handlers use it on occasion though he was never told expressly what it meant. From what he could gather it seemed to be used to express sentiments that did not reflect how one actually felt, but he is unsure if that is correct.

“No,” he replies.

“Of course you don’t,” the man says in that same tone, shaking his head. “I take it you don’t have ID or insurance either?”

Twelve does not know what insurance is. He knows that Liam works at an insurance company, but other than this the word holds no particular significance to him. He briefly considers telling the man that he is employed at an insurance company, wondering if it might help him gain entrance to the hospital, but quickly reconsiders. The Nurse might overhear him and if she does in fact know that he is an operative then he is already facing the possibility of one punishment as it is. It would not do him any good to prompt another.

“No,” he says again.

“Look if you don’t have ID, insurance, or a last name for that matter, we can’t help you here. Maybe try going down to the clinic. You know where it is?”

“No.”

The man takes out a small piece of paper and a pen, writes something down on it and then hands it to Twelve.

“Here’s the address,” he says, looking Twelve up and down again, his gaze lingering on the muzzle. Twelve takes the small piece of paper from him, then turns and heads towards the exit. No one stops him on his way out, so he concludes that he must have been wrong about the hospital being connected somehow to the program. He wonders if it would have helped him gain admittance after all to say he worked at an insurance company. He briefly considers going back and trying again, but thinks better of it. They seemed suspicious enough of him as it was, and going back with a different story would only serve to raise even more alarm. He will probably be better off taking his chances with the clinic.

Once outside he pauses a moment to picture the map of the city in his head, visualizing the direction he needs to go in order to get to the address the man gave him. It takes him approximately forty-three minutes to reach the clinic. Once inside he immediately tries to locate a Nurse but does not see any. The clinic is set up in much the same way the hospital was with a large desk in the center of the room and two areas with multiple rows of chairs on either side. Again, the hallways remind him of the bunker, but he surmises that it must just be the uniform layout for hospitals and clinics. It is much louder here than the hospital, however, and there are also a lot more people, forty-eight total, while there were only eleven at the hospital. He passes by the rows full of people and walks straight up to the desk, presuming that the protocols here are probably similar to those at the hospital. This time, however, there is a woman sitting behind the desk.

“Name, please,” she says as she starts to type.

“Twelve.”

“No nicknames. I need your full name, first and last.”

“Twelve. I do not have a last name.”

“Jesus Christ,” she sighs, turning to a woman who is standing behind the desk a few feet away talking to a bald man. “Marie, can you deal with him, please? I seriously don’t have the patience for this right now.”

The woman, Marie, comes over and says, “It’s fine, I got this. You go ahead and take your break.”

The first woman stands up, looks at Twelve once more, and then shakes her head and walks out from behind the desk and down the hallway.

“Can you tell me your name, sweetie?” Marie says, standing in front of the computer, her hands poised to start typing.

“Twelve.”

“I’m gonna need you to tell me your full name, hon.”

“Twelve.”

She sighs. “Alright, _Twelve_ , you have a last name?”

“No.”

She shakes her head but continues typing. “And what’s the nature of your visit?”

“I do not understand the question.”

“What are you here for, sweetie?”

“I need a Nurse.”

“Okay, are you sick?”

“No.”

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

“Are you here with someone who is?”

“No.”

She stops typing and looks up at him. “So, what _are_ you here for?”

“I need a Nurse.”

“What for?”

“I need to be fed and showered.”

She stares at him, unblinking, for approximately ten seconds. “Sweetie, this is a clinic, not a homeless shelter. If you’re not sick or injured, or here with anyone who is, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Unlike the man at the hospital though, she does not give him directions to any other facility. She simply stands with her hands on her hips, waiting. So, after glancing around briefly for another Nurse without success, he leaves. This time the walk takes him around eighty-eight minutes and he is sweating profusely by the time he makes it back to his post on the roof, his vision starting to swim. But a breeze starts up shortly after he gets settled and he cools quickly, his vision returning to normal as he resumes watching Liam’s flat, the window still sitting open just as it has been for the last few weeks.

With the amount of walking he did today he knows that in just a few hours he will start to smell even worse and he can already feel that he is significantly weaker than he was earlier this morning. But there does not seem to be much else he can do about it. He could try going to another hospital or clinic but it is highly likely that he will simply be turned away again like he was earlier. Not to mention the physical exertion will only serve to make matters worse. As of right now, his only other option is Liam.

Occasionally, when operatives would return to base from a mission very late at night, after the Nurses had already clocked out, they would be bathed by one of the Handlers. The fact that Liam uses code words, like the word Zayn, is not something that can just be passed off as a coincidence. Regular civilians do not use code words, at least not knowingly, so the fact that Liam knows about them must mean that he has worked as a Handler at some point. Although he must have worked at another bunker because he certainly was not at the bunker with Twelve. But if Liam has experience as a Handler, then perhaps when he returns home he can assist Twelve. He will still need to be fed of course, but perhaps Liam knows another Nurse who would be willing to assist Twelve with that, too. However, Liam is still at work and will not return home for approximately six hours, so for now Twelve can only wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! This one's a bit of a shortie but enjoy!

_Liam_

Liam is on his way home from work when he gets a call from Danny, a wave of guilt passing over him at the sight of Danny’s smiling face flashing across his phone screen. Their last date ended pretty badly after Liam spent pretty much the entire time distracted worrying about Zayn, only half paying attention to Danny. They’d gone to get ice cream but Liam was so lost in his own thoughts that his ended up melting before he’d even had a chance to eat any. Danny noticed of course, got fed up pretty quickly with Liam just grunting and nodding along to everything he was saying. And because Liam’s life is shit, things only got worse from there after Danny tried to ask him what was going on and he couldn’t think of a good excuse fast enough. It didn’t help that he was already kind of annoyed at Liam at that point for essentially wasting his ice cream, which Danny had so kindly paid for. And Liam’s lack of a proper explanation only ended up making Danny even more upset until the entire thing turned into a huge argument in the middle of the ice cream shop. Needless to say the date ended fairly quickly.

Things have been a bit awkward between them ever since and for the past few days Liam’s been avoiding Danny’s calls and texts. He knows he can’t keep avoiding him forever though so, against his better judgment he picks up, putting it on speakerphone because he’s nothing if not a responsible driver.

“Hey,” Liam hears Danny say through his phone’s tinny speakers.

“Hi,” he replies.

“Didn’t think I’d get you…I’m really glad you picked up though. How’ve you been?”

“Okay, I guess,” Liam says, shrugging even though Danny can’t see him. “You?”

“Yeah, same…” Danny pauses and Liam hears him blow out a breath before he continues, “Look, Liam, I know things have been a bit weird these last few days after what happened last week, but I was wondering—I mean, I know this is really last minute—but I was just wondering if maybe you’re free tonight? Cause if so, I was thinking maybe we could have dinner at my place…and, um, also maybe talk some stuff over if that’s okay?”

“Oh, um….”

“I completely understand if you’re busy though,” Danny cuts in. “I mean, we could always do it another time if you’ve got other stuff to do or something.”

“No, it’s, um—it’s alright, I can come.”

“Yeah? You’re sure?” He can hear Danny’s voice picking up a little in hopeful excitement and he feels even more guilty knowing he’ll only be going there to lie to him again. But he can’t get Danny mixed up in all of this, this is his own burden to bear and it wouldn’t be fair to just drag him into the middle of it.

He sighs softly, hoping it’s low enough that Danny can’t hear it, or the slight hesitation in his voice when he says, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. What time should I come by?”

“Is seven okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Ok great, see you then!”

“Yeah, see you,” Liam says, trying his best to sound excited.

A moment later, after Danny’s hung up, Liam blows out a huge breath, dropping his head against the cool steering wheel for a moment. He waits for the person in front of him to make the turn into the grocery shop car park, then follows suit behind them.

*

Arms full of shopping bags Liam bumbles his way through the doorway of his flat, kicking the door shut behind him and shuffling over to the kitchen island where he promptly dumps all the bags. Glancing at the time on his cable box he realizes he doesn’t actually have much time before he has to head back out again to Danny’s. It’s only a little after six now but Danny’s flat is twenty minutes away on a good day and in this rush hour traffic it’ll probably take Liam almost twice that to get there. Not to mention the fact that he still has to put up the groceries, change out of his work clothes, and figure out what the hell he’s going to say to Danny when he gets there. He’s probably going to be late but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He’ll just have to text Danny to let him know once he’s done putting up the food.

He shakes his head wearily, gaze travelling over to the window, which is still sitting wide open the same way it has been for the last three weeks. Maybe he should just close it. Accept the fact that Zayn’s probably moved on and that he should too. That would be the more sensible thing to do—not that anything he’s done lately has been all that sensible anyway. But the less rational side of him, the optimistic side, is telling him that he should leave it open a few more days, just in case. It’s not like there’s really any harm in it anyhow, he thinks. After all, he’s kept it open all this time, what’s a few more days?

Not that a closed window would do anything to stop Zayn anyway, as evidence has clearly shown. But it still makes him feel a little better to keep it open. It’s more inviting that way, which is exactly how he hopes it comes off to Zayn if it turns out it really was something _he_ did that scared Zayn off. Hopefully this way if he comes back he’ll see the open window and realize that it’s safe, that Liam’s safe, not someone Zayn should be afraid of or that he needs to run away from. ‘If’ being the defining factor here. It _has_ been almost a month. For all Liam knows Zayn is long gone by now, off to some other city halfway across the country. Sooner or later he’s going to have to start accepting the fact that Zayn is probably never coming back.

For now though he just turns back to his groceries, trying his best to put the thoughts out of his head. One thing at a time, he thinks. Groceries now, Zayn later, preferably much later. He’s only just started putting things away though when he hears the soft click of his window closing and he turns to find Zayn standing at the edge of his living room staring silently at him. Liam’s eyes meet his and that’s all it takes for his mind to go completely blank. All of the stupid little things he’d been agonizing about just moments before immediately go flying out of his head, the packet of cheese he’d been holding falling to the floor with a soft smack.

“Zayn,” he breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Shouldn't be too long until the next one... :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! :D  
> And Feliz Año Nuevo to my Spanish-speaking readers! :)
> 
> So I'm really mad at myself because I really wanted to post this on actual New Year’s but I took one look at it the day of and realized half of it was complete and utter shit (probably cause I rushed myself too much trying to get it done in time) and needed a serious rewrite smh and this one's long (actually the longest chapter yet) so it took me a while, but here we finally are three days later and I'm about 92% happy with how it turned out. Ironically, this was the chapter that I was most excited to get to for obvious reasons yet it was still one of the hardest to write (funny how that works), but anyway I hope you guys are ready for this one cause shit's about to get real…
> 
> And now without further ado, onto the long-awaited chapter...  
> Enjoy!

_Zayn_

The moment Twelve spots Liam’s car turning into the car park behind his building he immediately shifts into hyper alert. Lying in wait since his return to his post earlier that morning he has had ample time to plan for this moment, to plan his next moves precisely. But if his entrance is to go according to plan he must time everything correctly. Making sure to keep a close eye on Liam as he parks, Twelve shifts closer to the corner of the building where the fire escape sits, waiting patiently for the opportune moment in which to spring into action.

Liam, already returning home later than usual, takes quite some time to exit his car. But Twelve quickly realizes the reason for the delay when he sees him treading his way carefully through the car park with his hands full of plastic bags, the name of the local grocery shop he frequents stamped across them. Having timed Liam’s movements on numerous occasions, Twelve knows that he usually takes approximately three minutes and thirty-seven seconds to reach his flat from the time he enters the building. Timing his own movements precisely to match, Twelve waits until just before he expects Liam to enter his flat, only a minute and fifteen seconds remaining, to make his way down the fire escape. Once he reaches the ground he darts across the narrow stretch of pavement, quickly scanning the area for bystanders as he advances. Satisfied that there are no civilians in close enough proximity to spot him he scales the wall quickly, his vision starting to blur just slightly as he reaches his destination. Knowing that he must remain focused on the task at hand, however, he ignores it. Instead, refocusing his vision to the best of his abilities as he proceeds, climbing through Liam’s open window with ease and landing quietly on the carpet.

Liam does not notice him at first, his attention focused solely on the items he is removing from the bags as he darts back and forth between the kitchen counter, the cupboards, and the refrigerator putting them away. Knowing that it is not within protocol to address a Handler unbidden but needing to get Liam’s attention somehow, Twelve closes the window behind him hoping the sound will be enough to alert Liam to his presence. It is. Liam turns immediately, dropping the item in his hand to the floor the moment his eyes land on Twelve.

“Zayn,” Liam says, so softly it is almost a whisper.

Twelve cocks his head slightly to the side in confusion, a habit he inadvertently picked up from his years of working with Handler D that he cannot seem to completely eradicate no matter how hard he tries. He has always found it peculiar how one can manage to pick up small nuances from others around them without even realizing it. The matter confusing him now though is why Liam is whispering. There is no one else around to hear him and therefore no need to conceal what he is saying. But he supposes it does not matter so long as Liam is acknowledging him, even if it is still with the code word.

“God, _Zayn_ ,” Liam repeats. “You’re _here_ , you’re really _here_ …I mean, you aren’t—you’re not going to run away again, are you?”

“No,” Twelve replies. It would not do him any good to leave before he received the assistance he came here seeking.

“Okay, good, that’s good. _God_ , I can’t believe you’re really back,” Liam says, shaking his head and breaking out into a grin. “I _knew_ you’d come back—or, I mean, I didn’t _know_ but I hoped you would. You really had me nervous for a while there though. I mean, _three weeks_ …you sure took your time about it, didn’t you?”

Unsure of how to respond to this Twelve remains silent as he watches Liam curiously, analyzing his responses, his facial expressions. Liam seems extremely pleased to see him, which is odd considering their previous two encounters were brief and likely not what most would consider pleasant experiences. He does not know what to make of this. But again, it is no matter, unimportant in comparison to his current needs.

“Zayn?” Liam says, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Again Twelve says nothing, unsure why Liam insists on repeatedly addressing him with this code word when it clearly has no effect on him. Now, though, it is Liam who watches _him_ curiously, perhaps confused as to why the word did not succeed in eliciting the expected response from him, whatever that may be.

Brow still furrowed, Liam steps closer, peering into Twelve’s eyes as he says, “Zayn, do you—do you know me?”

“Yes. Liam James Payne, 5’10”, approximately 160 pounds, twenty-three years of age, brown hair, brown eyes, employee at Weissman and Schuster Insurance, work hours: 0830 to 1700 hours.”

Liam reels back at this, flinching and jerking away from Twelve in a rather sudden movement. “Um…okay,” he says, eyes wide and tone slightly apprehensive, “that’s, um…well, it’s a bit creepy to be completely honest, but it’s also not exactly what I meant. What I meant was, do you… _remember_ me?”

“Yes,” Twelve replies, watching curiously as a wide smile breaks out on Liam’s face. “I apprehended you at a bank approximately three months ago after you were uncooperative.”

The smile on Liam’s face falters. “But…you don’t…remember anything about me from before that?”

“I do not understand the question.”

Liam runs a hand through his hair, looking at Twelve with a strange expression on his face, one of sadness but also something else, something Twelve cannot put a name to. “We, um, we know each other…or at least, we used to…a long time ago. You—you don’t…remember any of that?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Liam replies, his gaze falling to the floor. He is very clearly disappointed at Twelve’s response and he wonders if that question was meant to be a test of some sort or if Liam still genuinely believes him to be someone he is not. Perhaps he suffers from delusions or some sort of psychosis and that is why he no longer works as a Handler. Twelve does not know. But whatever the case, it is clear that the answer he gave is not the one Liam was looking for and he wonders if he will be punished for his error.

Liam does not appear to be angry though. In fact, after a brief moment of silence he looks up at Twelve again with a small smile on his face. But the smile does not seem entirely genuine and Twelve wonders if Liam is deliberately concealing his emotions in an attempt to throw him off, to make him think he will not be punished when in fact he will. Though Liam has no way of knowing this, it is a technique with which Twelve is very familiar, as the Director often used it to discipline him in his early years in the program. As a result, he has learned to read people’s facial expressions very closely and meticulously, becoming quite skilled at identifying false displays of emotion. Though he suspects his gaining this skill was not the Director’s initial intention, he has found it to be quite useful over the years. Particularly in situations such as this one where things are so unclear.

Still smiling at him, Liam shrugs as he says, “Guess it doesn’t really matter all that much in the grand scheme of things, does it? The important thing is that you’re alright and that you’re here.” He moves closer to Twelve again, his smile turning more genuine as he looks him over. “ _God_ , I just—sorry, it’s just I can’t believe after all this time I actually found you…or I guess, you found me, didn’t you? Even if you don’t remember knowing me, the fact that you found me has got to mean something, right? I mean that can’t just be a coincidence, can it?”

He does not know how he is supposed to respond to any of these questions, although Liam does not seem to be giving him time to answer either way. Perhaps this is another test, or perhaps this is what Handler D meant when he tried to explain the concept of rhetorical questions to him. Even then Twelve was never able to fully grasp why someone would ask a question they did not expect an answer to. But he supposes it is just another strange civilian custom that he does not understand.

“Christ, sorry, I’m rambling,” Liam says, “Um…do you want something to drink, or something to eat, maybe? I’ve just come from the supermarket so I’ve got plenty of food. I can make you something, if you like?”

Liam walks back toward the kitchen excitedly, gesturing for Twelve to follow him and he does as directed while Liam continues his task from earlier, emptying the plastic bags on the counter.

“I’ve got pasta and sauce, so I could make some spaghetti if you want. Or if you just want something quick, I’ve got a couple of microwave dinners. Sorry I don’t have any of the stuff I’d need to make spicy chicken, I know it’s your favorite…or at least it used to be. Next time I go to the store I’ll make sure to get some chicken cutlets, but all I’ve got right now are bacon, sausage, and ham, none of which you even eat so I guess that’s that then. Um…what else…” he mutters, trailing off as he digs through more of the bags, “oh, there’s bread of course, and I’ve got beans so you could have, like, some beans on toast or bread and jam or something if you just want a snack. What would you like?”

Once again Liam has confounded him, listing food options and asking him what he would like as if Liam does not know that this is not in an operative’s place to do. Operatives do not have “likes” or “dislikes,” they are simply to do what they are told, nothing more. As a former Handler Liam should know this, yet he continues to act as if he does not. Instead exhibiting strange behavior, demanding responses from Twelve that are unbefitting of an operative and treating him almost as if he is a civilian. But to what end? To ensure that Twelve still knows his place? Possible, but unlikely. He has done nothing so far to suggest to Liam that he has forgotten the power dynamic between Handlers and operatives, at least as far as he knows. But he also has no way of knowing what answer Liam is looking for. If this _is_ in fact a test, it is a rather strange one.

“I do not understand,” Twelve says.

“As in, what would you like me to make?”

“I do not understand,” he repeats.

“Like _to eat_. What would you like me to make you to eat?”

Twelve hesitates, unsure whether the answer he is about to give is the confirmation Liam is looking for that will allow him to pass this test, if that is what this is. But when he is unable to think of any other suitable alternative within an appropriate timeframe, he decides to simply continue with his initial answer.

“Operatives do not eat.”

Liam, who is currently turned in the opposite direction as he puts more items in the refrigerator, does not appear to hear him at first. After a few moments have passed, however, he turns back to Twelve. Still half-distracted looking down at a carton of milk in his hand, he points behind him saying, “Sorry, I just, um, sort of had my head in the fridge there and I think I must have misheard you. What was that again?”

“Operatives do not eat,” Twelve repeats.

Liam suddenly stops what he’s doing, going completely still. The refrigerator is still half open, the carton of milk still in his hand but he seems to have forgotten about both as he stands there staring at Twelve, that same unreadable expression from earlier on his face.

“Operatives?” he says slowly, his voice going soft. Oddly, his tone seems to imply that he is not familiar with the word’s meaning, but Twelve surmises that perhaps the Handlers in the bunker Liam used to work in used a different word.

“Yes, operatives.”

“As in, like, CIA-MI6-undercover-secret-agent-type-operatives?”

“I do not understand the question.”

“What, um—what exactly did you mean by…‘operatives’?” Liam says, voice still soft as he places the milk in the refrigerator and closes the door, turning his full attention back on Twelve.

“Operatives: agents that exist solely to serve the Director and the program. Operatives are to follow the orders given to them by their superiors and to respect protocol. Operatives do not speak unless spoken to. Operatives are only to respond to direct questions or orders. Operatives are not to question their superiors nor are they to question any orders given to them. Operatives—”

“Shit. Okay, okay, I get it. I get it,” Liam interrupts, eyes wide as he leans heavily on the counter. “Christ, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to, like, trigger anything, just—I’m so sorry…are you, um, are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Okay…okay,” Liam says, exhaling loudly as he pushes himself back up and runs his hands through his hair. “So…operatives…that’s, um, that’s what you are, or were, I guess?”

“Yes.”

Liam nods in response but otherwise remains quiet for some time. Studying him, Twelve notices that he suddenly looks extremely uncomfortable though it is unclear why. Perhaps one of his responses has upset Liam again somehow, or perhaps it is something else. He does not know. So far, this is all proving to be an extremely confusing encounter that he does not understand how to navigate. Every answer he gives seems to be the wrong one and yet Liam continues with his test, why? It would be much easier for him to understand what is expected of him if Liam would simply be straightforward with him: tell him he has failed, punish him, and move on.

But perhaps this is nothing more than a game to him. Perhaps he enjoys toying with Twelve simply for the entertainment it provides him. After all, it would not be the first time that Twelve has found himself in such a situation. Past Handlers, past visitors to the bunker, they have toyed with him this way before. But he has found that in most cases the best way to endure is simply to go along with their game and to continue following what they say, no matter how strange it may seem.

“So…you don’t eat?”

“No.”

“Because you weren’t allowed?”

“Yes, but also because operatives do not require food.”

Liam shakes his head. “But how is that possible?”

“I do not understand the question.”

“If you don’t eat, how do you survive?”

“Operatives are given feeding time.”

“ _Feeding time_?” Liam repeats, again acting as if he has never heard the term.

“Yes,” Twelve replies, idly wondering how much longer Liam plans to continue this game.

“But that doesn’t make any sense…you _just_ said you don’t eat. So, if you don’t eat, then what is ‘feeding time’ for?”

“Being fed.”

Liam simply stares at him, face blank for approximately ten seconds. Then, pinching the bridge of his nose, he says, “Okay, so, just to make sure I’m getting this straight, operatives don’t eat, but they’re fed? That’s what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” Liam says, shaking his head and glancing briefly up at the ceiling before focusing again on Twelve. “Okay, then, so if I _feed_ you, that’s okay? That’s allowed?”

“I do not know,” Twelve replies.

Liam appears frustrated as he drops his weight to the counter again, bowing his head and running a hand through his hair roughly. “What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know?”

“I have only ever been fed by Nurses. I do not know if there are protocols in place regarding Handlers feeding operatives.”

Liam’s eyebrows rise high at this as he stares at Twelve again. “ _Protocols?_ _Handl_ —You know what, no. Never mind. We can talk about it later. For now let’s just focus on getting you ‘fed’ or whatever because you look like you’re about to pass out.”

He turns around, rummaging through one of the cupboards until he pulls out a glass jar filled with a reddish substance—jam, Twelve realizes belatedly.

“We’ll just keep it simple with a bit of bread and jam for now,” he says, taking out two slices of bread from the bag next to the refrigerator and dropping them into the toaster. He gestures for Twelve to sit at the one of the stools in front of the counter and he does as directed, watching Liam finish putting away the rest of the food and clear all of the bags away. The toast pops back up just as he is discarding the last bag and Twelve watches as he spreads the jam onto both slices, putting them on a plate, which Liam then places in front of him.

Twelve stares down at the plate, unsure how to proceed. He has seen visitors eat this sort of meal while he was in their company before, but he does not understand what Liam expects him to do with it. Though much of his knowledge of civilian food stems from his time with visitors, giving an operative civilian food was strictly against protocol even for them. It is one of the few protocols that he has never once broken, though he supposes he did come close to it. In the bunker there was one visitor in particular who would often specifically request a meal of bread and jam from the staff after spending the night with him; proclaiming that the sight of Twelve licking the jam from his fingers was the memory he cherished the most from their time spent together. He always liked to save it for last because he wanted to ensure that the moment stayed fresh in his memory even after he left, in addition to wanting to leave something for Twelve to remember him by. Even now the sweet aroma of the jam reminds him of the feel of the man’s fingers in his mouth, pressing in insistently. That is the closest he has ever come to eating civilian food. But this kind of food is not meant for operatives.

If this test truly is about him knowing his place then the obvious response is to leave it untouched. Liam, however, seems to want him to do the opposite of what is expected of him, if his past reactions are anything to go by. It would appear, then, that he is facing an impossible dilemma: follow protocol and risk bearing Liam’s scorn, or do what Liam seems to want him to do and risk failing this test, thereby also facing the possibility of bearing Liam’s scorn. There are no good options.

Liam must notice his internal deliberation, however, because he suddenly pushes the plate forward slightly so it is even closer to Twelve. Picking up one of the slices of toast, Liam holds it out to him, saying, “It’s alright. You can eat it. I promise I’m not trying to poison you or anything.”

At last an order. Admittedly, not an entirely straightforward one, but an order nonetheless. In spite of the fact that it is completely against protocol, at least there is no longer any ambiguity. Twelve complies, leaning forward to take a bite. As he marvels at the strange, scratchy feeling of the toasted bread in his mouth, however, the most peculiar sensation suddenly comes over him. It is one he cannot explain, a feeling as if he has done this before, even though he knows logically that that cannot be possible. He would never have been allowed to eat civilian food in the bunker and he is certain that if he had ever had the opportunity to he would remember it. Nevertheless the feeling is there, incessant and unyielding. He does not know what to make of it. But after a brief moment of internal conflict he decides to simply ignore it, surging forward to take another bite, and another until the slice of toast is finished. Unlike the man who used to visit him in the bunker though, Liam does not express any desire for Twelve to lick the jam from his fingers. He simply holds the other slice out to him, watching him take bite after bite until it too is finished.

Fingers now caked with crumbs, Liam takes the plate from in front of him, washing it off as he hums softly to himself. Twelve studies him just as he has done so many times over the past few months, contemplating. It is odd being so close to Liam now after becoming so accustomed to watching him from afar for so long, always making sure to maintain a safe distance. He supposes he will no longer have to worry about that now that Liam has effectively become his new Handler. Still he wonders how things will proceed from here. Will he be required to follow new protocols? Will he be punished for following the old ones? Will he be allowed to stay? Or will Liam prefer him to stay elsewhere? Back at his post on the roof of the abandoned building perhaps? He does not know. Liam has yet to explain to Twelve what he expects of him, so for now all he can do is wait for further instruction.

Finished washing the plate, Liam makes another serving of bread and jam for himself, sitting down in the stool next to Twelve to eat it. Twelve continues to watch him curiously, noticing that Liam looks slightly uncomfortable as he eats, looking up at Twelve every so often and flashing him small, close-lipped smiles that again do not appear entirely genuine. He is not entirely sure what to make of this behavior. But he is only just beginning to wonder if he has unknowingly disobeyed another protocol when he notices an uncomfortable, but not unfamiliar sensation in his stomach. It is a feeling he has felt only twice before. Once shortly after first waking up in the bunker, the other after returning from a mission when he was still on the Beta Team wherein the entire team had inadvertently been exposed to a virus. He is certain that this is not the result of a virus, however, as Liam would be ill as well. More likely this is the result of being given food that was not meant for operatives.

He wonders if this was Liam’s intention all along, if this is his way of punishing Twelve for failing his tests or for whatever he has done wrong. Perhaps it was unintentional, perhaps not. He does not have much time to dwell on this thought though as it will not be long before he needs to vomit. Regrettably, he is not sure whether it is appropriate for him to voice his concern without first being directly addressed. But he supposes this could be considered another special circumstance.

“I need a bucket,” he announces, uncertain of what sort of reaction to expect from Liam.

“Um…okay,” Liam replies, a confused expression on his face as he finishes his last bite of toast and dusts off his hands, his mouth still half full as he asks, “What for?”

“I am going to vomit.”

Eyes suddenly going wide, Liam swallows abruptly, choking a little as he whips around to look at Twelve. “Shit,” he says, “okay, um, come here.” Jumping out of his chair, he takes Twelve by the arm and directs him to the small shower room, lifting up the toilet seat and then heading back towards the door. “Okay, so, you’re all set then. If you, um, need anything just let me know, alright?”

Twelve looks from Liam to the toilet and then back to Liam. “I do not understand.”

In the bunker whenever operatives were ill they were given a bucket. That is what he is accustomed to. It does not seem right that he should be expected to defile Liam’s personal shower room this way. Yet it appears that is what Liam has ordered him to do.

Liam, poised to leave, pauses with his hand still on the door handle. He opens his mouth but does not say anything for a moment, looking at Twelve with an expression that seems to be a combination of confusion and disbelief. “You just, um, kneel down and…you know, do whatever you have to do, in there.”

When Twelve does not respond after a moment Liam adds, “Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll be right outside if you need me,” Liam says, gesturing to the door.

Twelve is unsure why he would need Liam while vomiting, but he supposes it must be another odd expression that civilians use, perhaps something meant to express comfort. He watches Liam exit the small room, closing the door behind him, and then he does as instructed, kneeling and vomiting into the toilet.

*

When he exits, Liam is standing just outside the shower room door, arms wrapped around himself as he leans against the wall.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Was it the bread and jam? That made you sick, I mean.”

“Yes.”

Liam nods, eyes downcast as he bites his lip. “I should’ve known better. You’re so thin…they’ve probably been starving you for ages. I should’ve known you’d need to take it slow. I don’t know what I was thinking...I guess I just got so caught up in my excitement over you being here I wasn’t really thinking at all. Has it been a really long time? Since you’ve eaten, or—been fed, as you call it?”

Long is subjective, he is not sure what Liam would consider a long time. But he supposes even with the physical modifications he has undergone, eight weeks is a long time to go without being fed.

“Yes.”

Liam nods again, moving to sit on the couch and beckoning Twelve over to the seat next to him.

“You mentioned something before…” he says, once they are both seated, “something about ‘protocols’ and—and ‘Handlers.’ What were you talking about?”

“I do not understand the question.”

“Earlier when you were talking about ‘protocols’ and ‘Handlers,’ and I think there was even something about Nurses…what did you mean by all of that?”

“I do not understand the question.”

Liam huffs out a breath. “I’m just trying to understand, okay? I just want to know what you meant by it all, what you meant by Handlers and protocols and Nurses and all of that. Can you just explain to me what you meant? Or what they have to do with what happened to you? Are they the ones that took you? The ones that turned you into… _this_?” Liam says, gesturing frustratingly at him.

Twelve can tell that Liam is growing more and more aggravated and annoyed by his repeated responses. But he does not know how else Liam expects him to respond to such a vague question. He cannot decipher whether Liam wishes for him to explain all of the protocols of the bunker to him, or to explain the duties of Handlers and Nurses, or to explain what protocols he follows as an operative in contrast to the protocols Nurses and Handlers follow. Perhaps it is some combination of all of these. But for the time being it remains unclear and so his answer remains the same.

“I do not understand the question.”

Liam groans loudly, dropping his head into his hands. “God, what the hell did they _do_ to you? You’re like a fucking _robot_ , with that monotone voice and all those programmed responses. You say things that don’t make sense and you don’t even realize you’re not making any sense. You stare at me like I’m some sort of animal in a zoo. You don’t even know how to feed yourself or—or use the damn toilet for Christ’s sake. It’s like you’re not even _human_. I mean, _God_ , what _happened_ to you, Zayn?”

“I do not un—”

“ _Stop_ saying you don’t understand the fucking question!” Liam says, abruptly standing up.

Twelve watches curiously as Liam starts to pace the room back and forth, running his hands through his hair and tugging roughly.

“Jesus Christ, what the _fuck_? _What the fuck_?” he mutters to himself over and over again as he paces.

Twelve is unsure of what to do. He has never seen a Handler behave this way. Under normal circumstances his first reaction would be to contact the bunker and request assistance, but that is no longer an option. He could attempt to find another tenant to request aide from, but that might only serve to make Liam more agitated. It appears he is at a loss.

“How am I supposed to deal with this?” Liam continues. “You’re not even _you_. How am I supposed to help you? What am I supposed to do? How am I even supposed to ask you anything when your answer to everything is you don’t understand the fucking question?”

Twelve stays silent, theorizing that these are probably more rhetorical questions, but Liam continues his onslaught, stopping to stand right in front of Twelve. “Please, can you just talk to me, Zayn? Can you just tell me what happened? What they did to you? I just want to help. You get that, don’t you?”

Twelve does not "get that." On the contrary he finds this whole tirade to be rather perplexing. But, not wanting to upset Liam any further, he figures it is probably best not to voice his thoughts, so he says nothing.

Liam, for his part, appears more sad now than angry as he bows his head forlornly. Squatting down so he is at eye level with Twelve, Liam looks at him head on, tears in his eyes as he says, “I just want to know what happened to my friend. Can you understand that? I don’t know what they did to you, Zayn, but I know you’re in there somewhere. I _know_ it. You can’t just erase someone. I know the real you is still in there. I just have to get you to remember somehow.”

Twelve stares back at Liam, who appears significantly calmer now than he did just a few moments ago, wondering if his odd display is over. Perhaps he is delusional after all. It would certainly explain the reasoning behind all of the strange comments and mixed messages. It is quite possible that he does not even remember being a Handler. Perhaps he has convinced himself that he is nothing more than a regular civilian. It could very well be the reason for his confusion regarding the protocols as well as his continued use of the code word “Zayn,” which he seems to use as if it were a name rather than a code word. It could be that Twelve simply reminds him of a past operative—or whatever word they used for operatives in Liam’s bunker—that he has now convinced himself was a friend instead of a subordinate. It is understandable that in his deluded state he would come to associate that word with the operative, who he now seems to believe is Twelve, especially if it was someone with whom Liam used this code word frequently.

Perhaps it was a mistake to come to Liam for assistance after all. But it does not matter now. He cannot change what he has already done. Operatives are not intended to function on a long-term basis without a Handler and he has already pushed himself to the limit by operating on his own for so long. Liam is his Handler now whether he is fully cognizant of this or not and, as such, it is Twelve’s duty to follow what he says to the best of his abilities, no matter how strange it may seem.

Shifting back to his spot on the couch, Liam turns away from him briefly, wiping his eyes as he takes a few deep breaths. When he turns back around, he has that strange expression on his face again, the one that Twelve cannot identify, sadness mixed with something else. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and starts to speak. “None of this even makes any sense to you, does it? Me raving on like a madman…you probably think I’m completely mental. I promise you, I’m not. It’s just…this isn’t easy for me. And I know that probably doesn’t make much sense to you either since you don’t even remember who I am, but if you could just help me understand what happened to you…I don’t know…maybe I can figure out how to help you.”

He pauses, sitting up and looking at Twelve as if he expects him to respond. When he doesn’t Liam simply sighs again, running a hand over his face before he continues, “Look, I don’t know how this works, okay? I’m sure there’s probably some stuff that you’re, like, not allowed to tell me, or whatever. But maybe you could just tell me what you can? Whatever you remember?”

Twelve is still uncertain about how best to respond. Liam seems rather displeased by his continued silence. But his questions sound more like statements in question form, and unspecific statements at that. Twelve does not know what answer to give that would satisfy him. Perhaps Liam expects him to recite a memory at random. Or perhaps he is trying to get Twelve to recall a particular memory, maybe even a memory of him. He cannot be sure, but it would be improper of him to ask.

“Okay,” Liam says tersely, “how about we just start off with the basics. What’s the first thing you remember? Your earliest memory that you can recall?”

At last a simple, straightforward question with a clear answer.

“Waking up in the bunker,” Twelve replies.

“A bunker. Of course your first memory is waking up in a bunker because why should I expect anything different?” he says, shaking his head. “I know that this probably won’t mean anything to you right now considering everything else, but you should know that for most people waking up in a bunker isn’t exactly a normal first memory. Can you tell me anything else though, any other details from when you first woke up? What else do you remember?”

“Pain.”

“Pain? Was someone hurting you?” Liam asks.

“No, I was undergoing the Procedure.”

“What procedure?”

“The annual neurological procedure that all operatives must undergo,” he replies, noticing that Liam appears uncomfortable again though he still cannot pinpoint what he has done to cause this.

“You…woke up during it?”

“Yes.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Liam says, dropping his head into his hands. “And this was something they made you do every year?”

“Yes.”

Twelve watches Liam as he leans forward, blowing out a breath and resting his elbows on his knees again. “God, this is all so fucked up. This whole thing is just _so_ fucked up…and the worst part is you don’t even realize it,” he says, glancing sadly over at Twelve.

Twelve wonders what the purpose of this line of questioning is. Liam claims it is to help him. But he does not understand how answering questions about his time in the bunker could serve to provide any kind of aide, especially when what he requires most at the moment is to be showered. Liam has yet to mention his stench, however, so for now there is nothing that can be done. Perhaps Liam is waiting for lights out. But according to his usual routine this will likely not be for at least another four hours still. So until then it would seem that Twelve will simply have to put his mind off of it and focus his thoughts elsewhere.

“At the bank…all those people who were with you…” Liam says, “they were all…operatives too?”

“Yes.”

“The girl…” Liam says softly, gaze trained straight ahead on the wall across the room, “the really small one with the blond hair that was with you, how old is she?”

“Fifteen.”

Liam nods somberly in response, but does not turn to look at him, remaining completely still for some time. Twelve studies him, noticing that he has gone pale even though he does not otherwise appear to be ill. When he speaks again it is even softer than before. “How many of you were there? In the bunker?”

“Initially, there were one hundred. At last official count there were ninety-four. Though it is very likely that there are significantly less now.”

“What do you mean?” Liam says, finally turning to face Twelve again. “What happened?”

“The program was shut down,” Twelve replies.

“The program? That’s what they called it?”

“Yes.”

“So, what, they just let all of you go, just like that?” Liam asks.

“No. The bunker was destroyed.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Liam says, “With what? Was it a bomb?”

“I do not know.”

“You weren’t inside when it happened?”

“No.”

“Then how did you find out?”

“I received a comm from a previous Handler informing me that the program was being shut down, all operatives and other personnel were to be terminated, and everything in the bunker was to be destroyed.”

“ _Terminated_?” Liam repeats, going slightly pale again. “As in… _killed_?”

“Yes.”

“So, all those people…the ones you were with at the bank—the girl and the man that ordered you to 'secure' me and all the others—they’re all…dead?”

“Yes, most likely.”

Again Liam does not say anything in response. Gaze trained on the floor now, he remains quiet for a long while as Twelve continues to study him. Liam has such a wide array of reactions and emotional displays, most of which are not very difficult to decipher. But this is one of the few that Twelve does not understand. To pause in the middle of his questioning for no other reason than to sit in silence—what is the purpose of such a response, or lack thereof? It would appear that there is none, but perhaps there is a hidden meaning, some unspoken civilian concept that Twelve does not understand. Otherwise, why would he continue to do it? Unable to come up with any additional theories, however, Twelve abandons this train of thought, concluding that perhaps further study of Liam over time will reveal a more clear answer. Instead he busies himself listening to the sounds of the heavy traffic outside; the loud screech of tires and honking of car horns that he has become so accustomed to in these last few months, signaling the return home from work for many. Rush hour, civilians call it, a peculiar name for a time of day when traffic appears to be at its slowest. So many things that do not make sense; it seems even in his attempt to distract himself he cannot escape it. This being simply one more oddity to add to the seemingly ever-growing list of things he does not understand, and perhaps never will, about the civilian world.

“The person that called you…” Liam finally says, interrupting his brief reverie, “the one that you called your…your ‘Handler?’ What happened to them?”

“I do not know. I have not heard from him in approximately eight weeks. I suspect that he was terminated as well, but I cannot be certain.”

“Eight _weeks_? That’s how long ago all of this happened?”

“Yes.”

“So, all this time you’ve just been…alone?”

“Yes.”

“What about the rules you mentioned earlier?” Liam says. “About being fed and all that…if you were alone for all that time how did you eat? Who fed you?”

“No one.”

“What do you mean no one?” Liam says, sitting up abruptly and squinting at him. “Are you saying you didn’t eat the entire time? For two whole months?”

“Yes,” he replies.

“But…that’s impossible,” Liam says, shaking his head fervently. “How could you survive for that long without food and not starve to death?”

“Physical modifications allow my body to sustain itself without food or water for longer periods of time than is tolerable for most civilians.”

“Physical modifications, right…” he nods. “I guess that explains how you were able to jump out of a four-story window without breaking both your legs. Do your eyes also shoot lasers?”

“No,” Twelve says, wondering what use that kind of ability could possibly provide while also contemplating what could have provoked Liam to ask such a strange question.

“Sorry. Stupid attempt at sarcasm,” Liam says, running a hand over his eyes. “Don’t even know why I bothered, you probably have no idea what sarcasm even means, do you?”

“No.”

“’Course you don’t…” Liam replies, sighing. “I’m not even really sure how to explain it to you in a way that makes sense. It’s sort of like a joke, I guess, except it’s not really meant to be all that funny. It’s more just making fun of a situation, in a sense…do you understand?”

“No.”

He nods. “Yeah, I figured that. Just forget I mentioned it, it doesn’t even really matter anyway,” he says, standing up abruptly and moving into the kitchen. Twelve watches him shuffle around in the drawers and cupboards as he pulls out a couple of mugs, spoons, a ceramic container, and a small green box. Holding up the brightly colored box for Twelve to see he says, “We’ve got a long night ahead of us, figured some tea was in order.”

*

Much to Liam’s delight, the tea does not make Twelve ill, and Liam happily expresses his relief both at this and at not having to feed Twelve spoonfuls of tea as he had apparently been worried he might. Twelve on the other hand is surprised to find that, much like the bread and jam, the warm, silky feeling of the tea in his mouth is familiar but peculiar all at once. Still unsure of what to make of this, however, he chooses to dwell instead on the sudden calmness that seems to overtake him as he drinks, marveling at the way the warmth seems to emanate throughout his entire body.

Liam has many questions about the program, questions that he should already know the answers to. Yet still he spends much of the night inquiring about the bunker, about protocols, the duties of Handlers and Nurses, Twelve’s physical modifications, and his training. Twelve answers all that he can to the best of his abilities, but finds his ability to focus increasingly compromised by Liam’s reactions. Growing more and more bewildered by Liam’s genuine appearances of shock and outrage at the details he discloses about the program, Twelve finds himself beginning to doubt his previous assurances. In fact, the more Liam questions him, the less certain he is of anything.

For one, it no longer seems as plausible that this could all be part of some sort of game, unless it is a very elaborate one. Not only has it gone on for far longer than he would have expected, but Liam’s reactions appear much too genuine to be fabricated. Most people cannot conceal their instinctual reactions quickly enough and it is precisely those simple non-verbal cues that reveal them. They often give themselves away with a twitch of the eyebrow or the mouth, or by avoiding eye contact or glancing away, even if only for a moment. But Liam has yet to display any of these traits.

Furthermore, despite his earlier provocations, Twelve is also not entirely convinced that Liam is delusional either; this simply being one possible explanation in a list of theories pertaining to Liam’s erratic behavior that he can neither confirm nor deny. After all, he has spent the past three months maintaining constant surveillance of Liam, and his actions thus far do not seem to reflect those of someone suffering from psychosis; a desperate man perhaps, but not a psychotic one. Unable to draw any further conclusions, however, he no longer knows what to think.

Could it be that the Director was wrong about Liam mistaking him for someone else? It is a treacherous thought, he knows, but the Director is dead, he can no longer punish Twelve for having wayward thoughts. Of course there is still the possibility that Twelve could be punished by Liam. Although if Liam is to be believed, then he knows nothing of the Director other than what Twelve has told him, which would make the idea of being punished for such thoughts inconsequential either way. But if the Director really was wrong could it be possible that Liam does in fact know Twelve and he simply does not remember.

It is not a completely unfounded thought. He has known for quite some time that the Procedure has some sort of affect on his memories though he has never been able to pinpoint how exactly. But if his theory is correct, it would explain why Liam seemed so pleased to see him despite their past encounters, and why he seems so upset when Twelve does not respond the way Liam seems to expect him to. It would also explain why eating civilian food seems so familiar to him despite the fact that he does not recall ever being allowed to eat it while in the bunker, and why Liam continues to address Twelve with the strange code word. Although perhaps it is not a code word at all, perhaps the Director was wrong about this, too.

“Zayn?” Liam says as he sips at his third cup of tea, brow creased in what appears to be worry. “Are you alright? It seemed like you went away there for a bit.”

Twelve hesitates, briefly pondering the pros and cons of voicing his thoughts. There is the obvious reason of course, which is that it is against protocol, the details of which Liam is now familiar with after a very extensive procession of questions. There is also the potential consequence of facing punishment. But Liam has yet to punish him even after all of Twelve’s seemingly undesirable responses to his questions. Furthermore, based on his reactions to Twelve’s recounts of past punishments he does not appear to be in favor of that type of action. Although there is a chance that this may be pushing the limits of what Liam will tolerate without retaliation.

But Twelve has grown tired of the constant uncertainty and confusion that seems to have surrounded him ever since he first set foot in Liam’s flat earlier. He has grown tired of not knowing, of not understanding and being able to do nothing about it. If he is to be punished then so be it. It is with Handler D’s words in his head that he makes the decision: _Protocol doesn’t exist anymore._ None of it _exists anymore, none of it_ matters. Handler D has never once lied to him, never concealed the truth, or displayed false emotion. If he said it, then it must so. Which is why, for the first time in a long time that he can recall doing so, he ignores a direct question, asking one of his own instead.

“What is Zayn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized I fucked up some of the dates a bit and my calculations were off in the beginning of ch. 14 so it should’ve actually said eight weeks and two days instead of seven weeks and three days (although it’s fixed now). But for those who read ch. 14 before I made the change, I just wanted to let you know that that’s why in this chapter the timeline has suddenly jumped up to eight weeks even though it’s still the same day…smh at myself, I really need to get it together...I still can’t figure out for the life of me how I managed to somehow skip an entire week when counting it all out but whatevs. Anyway, I hope that wasn’t too confusing for anyone and I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it (and rewriting it lol)! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m SO sorry for the wait guys :( work has really been kicking my ass lately and I haven’t had much time to get a whole lot of writing in and even when I did I usually just ended up writing random scenes that weren’t even meant for this chapter smdh I am a hot mess and I know it and I’m sorry you guys have to deal with it. I’m trying to get better at posting more consistently, I really am but life keeps getting in the way, here’s two chapters and some smileys to make up for it though! :) :) :)

_Liam_

Liam feels like he’s walked straight into his worst nightmare.

Of all the things that could have happened to Zayn, of all the horrible things Liam had _imagined_ might have happened to him over the years, he could never have envisioned how much worse the actual truth would be. He was just a _kid_ , just an innocent kid who hadn’t done anything to anyone and they took him and turned him into _this_ , this shell of a person. As if taking his memories wasn’t enough for them, they had to strip him of everything that made him _him_. Keeping him locked away in some bunker while they fed him through an IV and experimented on him like he was some kind of fucking lab rat. Convincing him he didn’t even deserve to be treated like a person, that he was less than human, that he didn’t deserve to have real food or make decisions for himself. That he was incapable of even taking care of himself, of thinking for himself, that his only purpose was to serve others, to take orders. Like he was nothing more than a human science experiment, just a thing to be toyed with, molded into whatever form they desired to do with as they pleased.

The thought of it all—of everything Zayn’s been through, everything _they_ put him through—makes Liam sick. But the one thing he’d been holding onto, the one thing that had given him the tiniest bit of solace in all of this, was that at least they hadn’t taken his name. In spite of everything else they’d taken from him, at least they had let him keep that small piece of himself. After everything Liam’s learned in the past few hours—all the unresolved questions he’s kept bottled up for the last ten years that he thought he’d never get the answers to, answers he now wishes he’d never found— that one thought is just about the only thing keeping Liam together, keeping him from completely breaking down. But then it comes, the question that shatters everything.

“What is Zayn?”

Suddenly all of what’s left of his fragile hope is gone in an instant. He turns away, unable to look at Zayn—at the person that used to be Zayn—unable to speak around the lump in his throat. His hands are wet and it takes him a moment to realize he’s shaking, tea spilling over the sides of the mug he’s holding. He places it on the coffee table next to Zayn’s empty one, wrapping his arms around himself to try to stop the shaking, but it doesn’t help. He can feel Zayn watching him, his cold, lifeless eyes practically boring a hole into the side of Liam’s face.

“Zayn is…” Liam starts, voice raspy, “Zayn is you.”

“Me?” Zayn says, monotone, still staring at him.

“You,” Liam repeats, nodding slowly.

Looking down at his hands, he remembers that they’re still wet and he gets up, making his way into the kitchen. He tells himself that it’s just to wash his hands, but really it’s to put some space between him and Zayn, whose eyes he can still feel on the back of his neck even from across the room.

He stands in front of the sink for a while watching the water swirl down the drain. Partly to waste time, partly because it’s hypnotizing and right now he’ll do anything to take his mind off of all the horrible images of Zayn in _that place_ that seem to be flashing in front of his eyes on a loop. The _water_ , he realizes belatedly, thinking back to the very first time he realized someone had been in his flat. That must have been what Zayn was breaking in for. The timeline fits. It would’ve been about two weeks after the so-called program shutdown, which is about how long he said he could survive without water. But of course he wouldn’t have known about the trick to the sink. The only thing that Liam still doesn’t understand though is how Zayn knew how to find him. But that’s a question for another time. Something tells him he might not like the answer. And after the last few hours he’s had enough of hearing things he wishes he could unhear for a lifetime.

Only after washing his hands a ridiculous three times and rearranging the various containers sitting next to the sink twice does he finally start to feel settled enough to turn back around and face Zayn. Who, of course, has not moved an inch nor stopped staring at him the entire time. If nothing else, it’s certainly a good scare tactic, unsettling as it is. Liam wonders if that’s his intention, if it means anything at all or if it’s just something he was told to do so he does it. He wonders if he’ll ever fully understand Zayn after everything he’s been through, if there’s even any chance, however small, of him getting his friend back after all they’ve done to him, all they’ve taken from him.

“What did they call you? In the bunker?” Liam says, looking in Zayn’s direction but avoiding his eyes.

“Twelve,” he replies.

“Twelve,” Liam repeats in disbelief. _Twelve_. The bastards couldn’t even be arsed enough to give him a real name. It’s like they scrubbed it all out, every cell, every particle, every trace of who he used to be, every little shred of what made him _human_. Gone in an instant. Wiped out by some machine. Some futuristic torture device in some dank room in a bunker where those sick fucks left him to wake up alone in excruciating pain with no memory of anything. No memory of who he was, what had happened, or how he’d gotten there, no comprehension of what was happening to him or why. He may have gone in an innocent child, but he’d come out something else. And he wasn’t the only one.

All those kids who were taken just like Zayn, who were tortured and brainwashed and turned into mindless killers, every fiber of their being erased; all those families who will never know the truth about what happened, who will never have a chance to get closure, all those lives destroyed, all because of one man. Liam hopes the Director rots in the deepest pits of hell for what he’s done.

*

Many more questions and hours later, his last cup of tea finally finished and the dishes washed, Liam turns to the clock on his cable box to find that it’s almost midnight. Exhausted as he is, he’s actually been dreading this moment because it means he has to figure out what to do with Zayn, or Twelve as he’s apparently now called. He could make up the couch, but he knows from experience—mainly falling asleep after a particularly late night watching the telly—that it’s not the most comfortable place to sleep. It’s not exactly like he has many other options though. Maybe it would be better to just pile up a bunch of the extra blankets on the floor. The carpet is pretty soft and the extra cushion of the blankets would probably make it more comfortable than the couch. Plus it might be better to have Zayn— _Twelve_ in the room with him just to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t run off again.

Twelve is still sitting on the couch in the exact same position he has been for the last ten minutes now, tracking Liam’s every movement as he moves around the kitchen putting the dishes away. Food is going to be an issue, he realizes as he puts up the plates. They’re going to have to take things very slow. He doesn’t know a whole lot about recovering from near starvation, but he’s at least familiar with the basics: go slow, eat small amounts, nothing too heavy. He’ll have to remember to add research to his list of things to do in the morning though, along with calling out sick from work because he has a feeling this is going to end up becoming a full time job all on its own. Thank God tomorrow’s Friday, or technically today now that it’s after midnight. He’s got three whole days to figure all of this out, three days before it’s back to real life. But for now all he can think about is sleep.

Striding past Twelve into his bedroom, Liam rifles through his closet pulling out a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt for Twelve to wear to sleep along with a towel and flannel. Liam would never say it to his face but he smells like he’s been living in a sewer for the last two months. Not that it would even matter if he did say it aloud since Twelve probably doesn’t even know what it means to be offended by something. Still, that doesn’t give Liam a free pass to be rude. For all Liam knows he _has_ been living in a sewer, or somewhere equally as repulsive, ever since the program was shut down. God only knows what he’s had to go through living out on the street alone all this time.

When he comes back out into the living room, Twelve is still sitting in exactly the same spot, watching him silently. Holding up the towel and flannel, Liam says, “Figured you’d probably wanna get freshened up before you go to sleep, change out of those clothes.”

Twelve says nothing, just continues to watch him.

“Right,” Liam says, sighing. “Direct questions and orders only. Alright, come on then. I’ll show you how to work the shower and everything.”

Twelve gets up, following him into the bathroom where Liam places everything on the sink counter and leans over the shower, pointing to the knobs. “That one on the left is hot, this one’s cold. The little lever here in the middle switches between the bath and the shower. Up for the shower, down for the bath. It takes a bit of time to heat up though so you might wanna let it run for a bit before you get in.”

Liam starts to head for the door, but turns back around just before he reaches it. “I’ll just be in the my room putting out some blankets and stuff for you, so if you need anything you can just call me. Although not too loud cause it is late and I’ve already had one noise complaint filed against me. Everything you should need’s already in there though. I’ve got plenty of shampoo and soap and all that, so you should be good as far as that goes.”

Radio silence.

“Right, so I guess I’ll just leave you to it then,” Liam says, finally making his way out of the door and closing it behind him.

Back in his room, he riffles through his closet again, pulling out all of his extra blankets and pillows and building a little nest of sorts on the floor next to his bed. He feels a bit like a kid again as he piles up all the blankets and pillows for maximum fluffiness as if he’s preparing for a sleepover. Although he supposes in a way he sort of is. When he’s done he tests it out for himself, laying down on it and rolling around a bit to make sure it’s comfortable enough to sleep on, thankful that Zayn— _Twelve_ isn’t here to watch him make a complete fool out of himself. The name thing is still throwing him for a loop, but it’s just one more thing to add the list of challenges he’s going to have to face while he figures all of this out. Satisfied that the nest is as comfortable as it can be, he gets up, pausing to smooth the blankets back out and fluff the pillows back up, before he goes to change into his own pair of sweats and a t-shirt. It’s while he’s changing though that he suddenly realizes, in all the time it took him to lay out all the blankets and pillows and change into his sleep clothes, he never once heard the shower running.

Pulling on his t-shirt the rest of the way, he decides to go investigate. Part of him wants to give Twelve the benefit of the doubt and say that he’s just washing up in the sink. Or that maybe he just took a really quick shower and Liam was so distracted with the blankets he didn’t hear the water running. But the other part of him is worried that Twelve might have run off again, that he might have even been waiting for the moment when Liam would leave him alone so he could make his escape. Knowing that Twelve probably wouldn’t answer either way, he knocks on the door more out of formality than anything, afraid of what he might find on the other side. He hopes it’s not an empty bathroom, or an unconscious Twelve because then they’d really be in the shit. When he does finally open the door though it’s to find Twelve still there, which is a momentary relief. Until Liam realizes he’s still in the same clothes he left him in, completely dry as he stares straight ahead at the shower, exactly where Liam left him over ten minutes ago now.

“Za—um, Twelve? What are you doing?” he asks.

“Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“To be showered.”

Liam’s eyes go wide as it hits him, remembering something Twelve had mentioned earlier when Liam had asked him about the protocols in the bunker. _Operatives do not bathe themselves_ , he’d said. That was always taken care of by the Nurses, and occasionally the Handlers. Which means that now, that duty falls to Liam.

Fuck. He is _so_ not equipped for this.

Running a hand through his hair nervously, he takes a deep breath before stepping forward, moving closer to Twelve. “Right. Okay, so, um, how does this work? Do I need to, like, take off your clothes for you and everything, or can you do that part on your own?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, good,” Liam says, reaching around him to turn the faucet on, grateful that at least he can do that much on his own. Keeping his eyes trained on the shower while Twelve undresses, he adjusts the water to what he hopes is an okay temperature. He knows that he’s just delaying the inevitable, that he’s going to have to look at Twelve eventually since he can’t very well wash him with his eyes closed after all. But for the time being he keeps his gaze focused on the shower wall, waiting until he doesn’t see any more movement in his periphery.

“Okay, you can step in now,” he says, turning timidly towards Twelve as he steps past Liam into the shower.

Liam is not at all prepared for what he sees. He’d known Twelve was extremely thin just from what he could see of his frame through his clothes, but _this_. _This_ he doesn’t even have words for. The only other time he’s ever seen anything even remotely like this is in old footage of concentration camp prisoners. Liam can see the sharp edges of his shoulders and collarbones jutting out, the bones of his spine and each of his ribs protruding from his back and chest. His limbs are so thin it’s a miracle he can even support himself long enough to stand, much less walk or scale a building for Christ’s sake. There are scars lining his back and chest, some long and jagged, others short and smooth, like they were done with precision. There are tattoos on the back of his neck and both of his arms; a barcode on his right forearm, a series of tally marks on his left, and on his neck roman numerals with even more tallies beneath in small script. Liam stares, aghast, but still unable to turn away. It’s like every moment with Twelve seems to reveal something else. Every time Liam thinks things can’t get any worse, he somehow manages to uncover something even more horrible than the last.

Sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down, he reaches back to the sink to grab the flannel, holding it under the cascade of water and lathering it with soap. Twelve stands completely still as Liam washes him, staring straight ahead at the shower wall, seemingly nonplussed by the water dripping down his face and over his eyes. Liam wonders what’s going on inside Twelve’s head, if he’s thinking anything at all or if they trained that out of him too. If behind those dead eyes it’s all just empty and blank, no substance at all, or if there’s some remnant of a person in there, some remnant of an actual human being that’s more than just this robot they’ve created. Maybe in time he’ll find out. But for now he just reaches for the shampoo, instructing Twelve to close his eyes as he scrubs at his scalp gently, running his fingers through the tangles that have formed now that his hair is no longer in a crew cut like it was all those weeks ago at the bank. When he’s combed out all of the knots, he has Twelve duck further under the water, rinsing off the shampoo and the rest of the soap from his body, all of the dirt and grime of the last two months swirling down the drain.

“Alright,” he says, tapping Twelve lightly on the shoulder to get him to open his eyes, “you’re all done. Come on, let’s get you dried off.”

Reaching for the towel, he holds it open for Twelve as he gets out, wiping him down gently before handing him the clean set of clothes. While Twelve is getting dressed Liam picks up his muzzle and his old, tattered clothes from the floor, eyeing the binoculars and the small plastic earpiece next to them curiously. Another question for another time. He bundles everything up carefully with the towel and the flannel, and then tucks the bundle under his arm, grabbing a hand towel from the rack on the wall to quickly dry Twelve’s hair with before he leads him back to the bedroom.

“So, I know it’s not exactly a bed,” he says, pointing to the bundle of blankets on the floor, “but it’s the best I could do on short notice. I tested it out myself and it’s pretty soft, so you should be okay. But if you’re uncomfortable at all—if you even feel that sort of thing—just let me know and I can try to make a trip to the store at some point over the weekend, get you more pillows and blankets and stuff, whatever you need. Understand?”

“Yes,” Twelve replies, watching him as he dumps the clothes and towels in the hamper by the door and places Twelve’s muzzle, binoculars, and the earpiece in a little pile on his desk.

“Alright, well, then I guess this is good night,” he says, rubbing a hand over his eyes tiredly as he moves to climb into his bed, motioning for Twelve to do the same. He waits until Twelve has settled before he turns out the lights, hoping that he’ll still be there when he wakes up.

*

Liam wakes to bright sunlight streaming into his eyes from his bedroom window. Realizing in all his haste last night that he forgot to close his blinds he sits up, squinting to shield his eyes from the light, only to find Twelve watching him from his spot on the floor.

“Hey,” he croaks out as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “How long have you been up?”

“Approximately two hours.”

Liam glances at the clock on his bedside table. 6:58. He wonders idly if Twelve spent the entire two hours watching him sleep, and then realizes he’d rather not know. Sitting up properly, he reaches around his alarm clock for his phone only to find that it’s not there even though that’s where he usually leaves it.

“Shit,” he mutters, getting up to check the floor and underneath the bed. He sighs gruffly when he comes up empty, running a hand through his hair in frustration before venturing out into the living room. He checks everywhere, under all the couch cushions, on the kitchen counter, even underneath the coffee table, all with no luck. Racking his brain trying to remember where he last saw it, he keeps coming up with nothing but blanks.

He’s just starting to panic when he finally spots it, sitting unsuspecting on the table by the door, in the little bowl where he always drops his keys. He was so distracted with all the bags in his hands yesterday he must have dropped it in there with his keys when he came in without even realizing it. Sighing in relief, he picks it up. The battery’s dead of course, no surprise there, but at least he knows he didn’t leave it in the store yesterday or drop it in the middle of the hallway. Going back to his room to plug it in, he checks the clock again. 7:22. That’s twenty minutes of his morning wasted looking for a phone that was right in front of his face the entire time. What a shitty way to start the morning, he thinks, shaking his head.

On the table his phone suddenly starts to chime and vibrate uncontrollably, all the missed texts and various notifications from the last twelve hours coming in at once. He rests his chin on his hand as he sits on the side of his bed waiting for it to finish. All the while Twelve watches him, tracking his every movement as if he’s some sort of spectacle to behold, like he doesn’t have anything better to do. Which he probably doesn’t, Liam realizes. Liam sticks his tongue out at him, just to see what he’ll do, what kind of reaction he’ll get out of him, if any. A cock of the head. That’s all. It’s more than he was expecting though.

Smiling to himself he goes to pick up his phone, which has finally stopped dinging, unplugging it from the charger momentarily. Six missed calls, three voicemails, thirteen missed text messages, and fifteen unread e-mails, plus three notifications from Facebook, four from Instagram, one from Tumblr, and two from Snapchat. Immediately dismissing all the social media notifications and ignoring the texts for now, he goes straight to his call history to find that four of the missed calls are from Danny, along with all three voicemails. _Shit_. The dinner. He’d completely forgotten. Danny must think he’s a complete arsehole.

Clicking on the first voicemail from 7:16, he puts the phone up to his ear, Danny’s voice ringing out through his speakers, “Hey, so I tried to text you—although you probably didn’t answer cause you’re driving—but I just wanted to know if you were on the way yet. I know the traffic’s really shit today so you’re probably running late, but just let me know what time you think you’ll get here.”

7:52 PM: “So, I’m not sure if you have your phone on silent or whatever, but just call me back when you get this.”

9:48 PM: “Christ, Liam, if you didn’t wanna come all you had to do was say so. You didn’t have to be a complete dick about it. Guess now I know how you really feel though. Do me a favor and don’t call me back, okay?”

 _Shit_. Shit, shit, shit, shit. He scrolls back up, ignoring the two other missed calls from Louis and Niall and clicking on Danny’s name.

“Come on, come on, pick up. Please pick up,” he mutters as the phone starts to ring.

No answer.

Groaning, he flips over to his text messages, skipping over the ones from Louis, Harry, and Niall that are most likely about FIFA or beer and scrolling down to the eleven missed messages from Danny.

 **6:43 PM** – _Hey, are you on the way?_

 **7:02 PM** – _Let me know what time you think you’ll get here_

 **7:13 PM** – _Text me back when you can, I know the traffic’s pretty shit_

 **7:34 PM** – _Are you still in traffic?_

 **7:49 PM** – _?_

 **7:56 PM** – _Call me_

 **8:01 PM** – _Where are you?_

 **8:22 PM** – _???_

 **8:23 PM** – _Wtf Liam_

 **8:31 PM** \- _Answer your fucking phone_

 **9:45 PM** – _You’re a dick_

Putting the phone back up to his ear he tries to call Danny again, but there’s still no answer. God, he is such an idiot. One of the few good things in his life and he manages to screw even that up. He just wishes Danny would pick up the phone and talk to him, let him explain. Not that he’d be able to tell him the whole truth anyway, but at least it’d be something. Switching back to his text messages again, he quickly types out a message to him.

 **7:29 AM** – _I’m so sorry! I promise I wasn’t ingnoring your calls on puprose I had an unexpcted emregency that I had to deal wth and I lost my phone can we pleas talk???_

He waits until he’s sure it’s been sent before he plugs his phone back into the charger, figuring he probably won’t get a reply right away, but barely thirty seconds pass before he gets a message back. Grabbing for his phone again excitedly he clicks on the unread text message notification, his face falling when he sees what it says.

 **7:29 AM** – _This is an automated response. The person you are trying to reach has chosen to no longer receive messages from this number._

He stares at the message, not wanting to believe it, but there it is. And he deserves it. He’s been prioritizing Zayn over everything—Danny, his friends, even his family—with no regard to how it might affect anyone else but himself. He’s a selfish twat is what he is.

Dropping his phone on the table, he curls back under the covers on his bed, tucking his face into the pillow and pulling the blanket over his head until he can’t see Twelve’s empty eyes staring back at him anymore. He lies there silently, listening to his own breathing and staring at the underside of his sheets and duvet wishing he could stop feeling like he’s constantly fucking everything up.

How is he supposed to take care of this whole other person—who isn’t even really a person—when he can barely even handle taking care of himself and his own life? It’s too much, and he’s a mess. He’s stuck in a job he hates, on the verge of losing his flat for God only knows what, and he can’t even stay in a relationship for more than a few months without finding some way to ruin it all. He’s spent most of his life blaming all his problems on losing Zayn, but now that he’s found him, his life’s an even bigger mess than it was before. Because Zayn may be back but he’s not _really_ back and somehow that’s even worse. Looking at this face he used to know, remembering the person he used to be, and knowing that he’ll probably never be that way again. That he’ll probably always just be a pale shadow of the Zayn he used to know.

And then there’s Danny. Sweet, oblivious Danny who’d been nothing but kind and supportive of Liam since the day they’d met. Who didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of any of Liam’s drama but had ended up inadvertently being the recipient of it anyway. Liam had tried his best to keep all of this from him because he didn’t think it was fair to Danny to just dump all of his shit on him on top of everything else. It wasn’t his ten years of baggage to carry. But in the end it turns out it didn’t even matter. Liam still lost him anyway.

Maybe he’s just not meant to be in a relationship. Maybe he should just stop trying. It’d probably do him some good to focus on getting his shit together anyway, especially now that he’s got Zayn— _Twelve_ to take care of. He lies there for a while, just breathing, clearing his mind, trying his best to calm down. He doesn’t know how much time passes, ten minutes, maybe twenty, of him just lying there trying to think calming thoughts, trying to block out everything that he’s going to have to face again the second he gets up anyway.

Eventually he just gives up. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he pushes back the covers, ignoring Twelve’s eyes on him as he picks up his phone again. He scrolls through his contacts until he gets to his boss, David’s number and presses the call button, listening to it ring. Then, faking a few phlegmy coughs and a couple of sniffles when he hears it pick up, he tells David that he can’t make it in today, making sure that when he speaks his voice comes out extra raspy. Sounding properly disgusted, David tells him to stay home for as long as he needs to and to make sure he’s fully recovered before he comes back to the office so he doesn’t get anyone else sick. And despite still being in a slightly somber mood, Liam can’t help smirking to himself a little at the realization that he may have just bought himself a few more days off. He makes a point to hang up as quickly as he can before David has a chance to change his mind.

Dropping his phone to the bed, he finds Twelve looking up at him with his head cocked to the side again, probably trying to understand what the hell just happened and Liam can’t help it. He bursts into laughter—loud, uncontrollable, hysterical laughter that he can’t seem to stop. He doesn’t even really know what he’s laughing at. At Twelve? At David? At himself? At the sad state of his love life? At the ridiculousness of this whole situation? Of his life in general? Maybe all of it. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t even really care. All he knows is that right now, in this moment, it just feels really good to laugh, to find some sort of humor in all of this even if it is just to keep himself from crying.

Twelve probably thinks he’s completely mental, but he doesn’t even care. He gets up, still smiling to himself as he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. It’s when he’s putting his things back up in the medicine cabinet that he finally starts to sober up a little, realizing that he’s also going to have to get another toothbrush for Twelve; that even something as basic as dental hygiene might be something Liam has to re-teach him, among a multitude of other things. Rummaging through the medicine cabinet and the small cupboard beneath the sink, he searches his things for an extra toothbrush with no luck. Mouthwash will have to suffice for now until he can make a trip to the store.

Back in his bedroom, he finds Twelve still cross-legged in the same spot, watching the door as if he was counting the seconds waiting for Liam to come back. For all Liam knows, he was. He leads Twelve back to the bathroom where he pours a capful of mouthwash for himself and demonstrates how to swish, explaining what it’s for once his mouth is clear.

Twelve watches him curiously, nodding his assent when Liam says, “Understand?”

Pouring a capful for Twelve, Liam hands it to him carefully. “Now you.”

Twelve obeys dutifully, replicating the exact number of Liam’s swishes to a tee and waiting patiently while Liam puts the mouthwash back up and wipes down the sink.

He starts to head back out to the kitchen, but realizes a moment too late that Twelve isn’t behind him, still standing in front of the bathroom sink staring after him blankly. Liam sighs, stepping back toward the bathroom doorway and beckoning him over with a hand, saying, “Follow me.” As weird it is, he’s going to have to get used to ordering Twelve around since that seems to be all he responds to.

Liam vaguely remembers reading something somewhere about routine and familiarity being important for trauma survivors, so he tries his best to stick to what he’s already done. He sits Twelve down in the same spot he did yesterday as he puts on the kettle for tea and he makes bread and jam again, but this time he only serves Twelve half a slice. They eat in relative silence, but once the tea is finished boiling they move to the couch and Liam flips on the telly, more to fill the silence than anything, noticing immediately how Twelve seems weirdly fascinated by it. The second it’s flicked on Twelve sits up a little straighter, focusing with rapt attention as his eyes flit around wildly, seemingly trying to take in every little miniscule detail that appears on the screen. It’s the most animated Liam’s seen him get since he’s been here and it sort of throws him for a loop. He can’t help wondering what it is about the telly that’s managed to coax such a reaction out of Twelve when nothing else seems to faze him; especially considering it’s just the news and not some high-action movie. For now though he keeps his questions to himself. He reckons Twelve’s had enough of that after last night.

Twelve manages to keep the food down for a little over an hour, which isn’t great but it’s at least an improvement over yesterday and Liam will take what he can get. He keeps a steady supply of tea going and is thankful to find that Twelve doesn’t need his help to take a piss. At least they let him have that, Liam thinks. They’re definitely going to need to have a talk sometime soon about this whole direct questions and orders thing though because Twelve asking for permission every time he has to use the toilet is going to get old fast.

After a lunch of chicken noodle soup that’s mostly just broth, which Twelve manages to hold down for a record of two and a half hours, Liam decides to take his chances with a quick trip out to the nearest shop within walking distance. Twelve is still so enamored by the telly that Liam’s hoping it’s enough to keep him ensconced on the couch at least until he gets back so he doesn’t have to worry about coming back to an empty flat.

He still worries though, can’t help it, and he peruses the aisles as quickly as possible, grabbing a toothbrush, two more boxes of tea, and a few cans of milk. He taps his foot impatiently as he waits in the line to pay, which isn’t long but seems to take forever anyway. Then he half-walks, half-runs back home, anxiousness getting the best of him as he takes the steps up to his flat two at a time. Tentatively, he opens the door, peeking his head in slowly as if that will somehow delay the inevitable, but he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that Twelve is still there sitting on the couch right where Liam left him.

He bumbles around the kitchen putting the tea and other stuff up before settling back on the couch with Twelve. It’s nice, almost normal in a way, the two of them sitting in companionable silence on the couch watching some cheesy eighties movie he doesn’t even know the name of. Almost. For a moment it feels so normal that he can almost forget all the other stuff, the things that are completely and utterly not normal about this situation. Like the fact that Twelve hasn’t moved a muscle in over an hour; or the fact that he doesn’t laugh or crack a smile or otherwise show any kind of emotion at all in response to the ridiculous antics playing out on the screen. Or that he’s so frail Liam can’t stop himself from worrying that any kind of sudden or jarring movement will snap one of his bones in half. Liam doesn’t want to think about any of that though so he turns his attention back to the movie instead. For now, this is enough. This _has_ to be enough.

*

In the morning Liam wakes up to a string of texts from Louis, mostly consisting of pictures of his sad face that Liam missed their weekly Boy’s Night Out, and one with him, Niall, and Harry all holding up their pints in a toast.

The caption reads: _To you, Liam! Feel better soon, mate :)_

He feels a bit guilty for lying to them, but under the circumstances he didn’t have much of a choice.

He types out a quick reply: _Thaknsss for the welwishes Lou ill tryyy!_

Then he scrolls back through his other messages haphazardly. There’s more get-well-soon messages from Niall and Harry, a few old messages from Niall that he never read about a football match that he evidently missed, and one from Harry that’s just a picture of a banana with no caption. Still nothing from Danny. Which is disappointing, but he’s a bit surprised to find that that’s all he feels. Not sad, not dejected, not hopeless, just disappointed. Honestly, the fact that he’s more upset at himself for ruining things than he is over actually losing Danny should probably tell him something. Besides it’s probably for the best anyway, there’s no way Liam would be able to hold up his end of a relationship with everything that’s going on now with Zayn being back. Zayn, who is currently staring at him from his spot on the floor, face blank, just like he was yesterday morning.

“How long have you been up?” Liam mumbles, idly scratching at his stomach.

“Four hours and eighteen minutes.”

Figures, Liam thinks to himself, as he glances at his alarm clock. It’s 9:18 now and he was up by five yesterday too. It’s probably all he knows, waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get ready for missions and torture sessions and brainwashing and what-have-you. Liam feels a bit guilty for oversleeping but there’s nothing he can do about it now so he just shakes his head to rid himself of the last bits of grogginess as he gets up, saying, “Come on, follow me,” and heading to the bathroom.

Teaching Zayn— _Twelve_ to brush his teeth is rather eventful. Mouth held open in a wide and unsettling grimace in an attempt to mimic Liam, he presses the toothbrush to his teeth, mirroring Liam’s movements as he moves his arm back and forth. And Liam’s never had to think about the exact amount of pressure with which he brushes his teeth before. But he quickly realizes he’s going to have to start because the next the next thing he knows Twelve’s mouth is covered in pink foam, gums bleeding from brushing too hard, the blood mixing together with the white toothpaste. Twelve is unfazed by the blood and doesn’t spare Liam’s expression of alarm more than a cursory confused glance. He just keeps brushing his teeth as the toothpaste turns an even darker shade of pink and Liam has to physically pull the toothbrush away from his mouth and out of his hand to get him to stop.

Twelve stares at him, unblinking, while Liam rinses the toothbrush off and has him rinse his mouth until the water starts running clear again. Twelve claims he’s not in any pain when Liam asks but honestly, at this point, Liam’s a bit skeptical when it comes to Twelve and his pain threshold. He doesn’t press the issue though, just does a quick check of his mouth to make sure there’s nothing too serious he needs to worry about and then herds him back out into the living room.

Liam gives him orange juice instead of hot tea with his bread and jam this time, not wanting to add insult to injury just in case, and Twelve gulps it down, managing to hold everything he eats down until after lunch. Liam’s counting it as a victory even if it isn’t really. He takes some time, while Twelve is enraptured by some soap opera on the telly, to do a bit of research. So far, it seems he’s been doing everything right as far as sticking to things like tea and soup and bread in small amounts at a time. He could do with adding more vitamin-rich things to the list though.

To make up for it Liam gives him three cups of milk before dinner and two huge cups of orange juice and apple juice with dinner. And then instantly regrets it when Twelve asks him for possibly the fifth time that day for permission to “relieve himself.” He grits his teeth and bears it though because, especially after what he read earlier, he knows how important it is not to introduce too much change at once. Twelve’s already been dislodged from everything and everyone he’s ever known within the feeble grasp of his memory and been forced to adapt to a whole new environment and way of living. The last thing Liam wants to do is to make things any worse by completely upending ten years of intense psychological conditioning all at once. He is nowhere near equipped to deal with a psychotic breakdown, especially not one involving a trained assassin who could probably kill him six different ways to Sunday without even breaking a sweat. And it’s insane really when he thinks about it, that he’s letting a trained killer live in his flat like it’s no big deal, like providing lodging for undercover super assassins is just something he does on the regular. But it’s also Zayn, and no matter the circumstance, Liam could never just leave him out in the street to fend for himself. Holding onto the hope, however small, that his friend is still in there somewhere is the only thing keeping him going through all this and he’s willing to grip that hope tight and hold it to his chest for as long as he possibly can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And onto the next one...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the double post and Happy Friday! :)

_Zayn_

Being under Liam’s charge is starkly different to what Twelve was accustomed to in the bunker and Twelve finds himself endlessly fascinated by the contrasts. Not only does Liam talk to him like a civilian would another, he treats Twelve like one as well. He gives him civilian food and clothes, shows him how to do tasks that Twelve suspects operatives should not be learning. He appears supremely uncomfortable giving Twelve orders, usually relying on simple gestures and demonstrations to get his point across. He makes vague statements, asks indirect questions, and oddly, often inquires about the state of Twelve’s wellbeing. It is all very peculiar behavior and Twelve struggles to make sense of it all as he lies awake waiting for sleep to come again.

The bed that Liam has made him is soft, much softer than what he was used to in the bunker, and certainly much softer than the concrete roof of the abandoned building. Sleep the first couple of nights had been a trial, the softness of the blankets and pillows proving too strange a sensation for him to adjust to. The smooth, thick material had kept him far too warm, overheated even, not at all like the thin wool blankets in the bunker; the plush feel of the pillows and blankets underneath him completely at odds with the steady, hard surface of his old bunk. But that is not what keeps him awake tonight.

Above him, Liam is fast asleep, has been for hours now, but Twelve is wide awake trying to focus his thoughts on something other than the dream that startled him awake just minutes ago. In it he was back in the bunker, being sent to the Discipline Rooms by the Director to be punished for insubordination. The flash of the scalpel and the memory of the piercing pain left in its wake as it slices into his skin is usually enough to rouse him before it continues any further, but not this time. This time it had been the salt, the relentless and unyielding scorch of it inside coupled with the pierce of the needle as the Doctor neatly sewed him back up. He had woken panting and drenched in his own sweat—long having since learned to dampen his screams lest he be caught and punished again for waking for the other operatives—the phantom burning of a wound long healed fading slowly away. He presses his fingers to the scar on his chest in scrutiny but the pain is long gone now and he refocuses his thoughts on Liam until exhaustion finally takes over and he drifts back to sleep again.

*

In the week that passes he spends much of his time studying Liam and his wide array of facial expressions and displays of emotion, taking a mental inventory of all the ones he does not fully understand; such as the sticking out of one’s tongue or sudden and seemingly unprovoked bouts of laughter. He learns a great deal more about civilian food in the span of a few days than he ever had in his years in the bunker, fascinated by all of the varieties of textures and tastes. Television also continues to intrigue him with all its sights and sounds. There is so much to see in every little detail, so many people in so many different places with a myriad of accents and different styles of dress, some of which he recognizes and some he does not. There is such a multitude of expressions he does not understand and situations he does not quite follow, though he tries to. He catalogs it all, committing it to memory for further study, something else to ponder over on sleepless nights.

Currently he is sitting on the couch, absorbing as much as he can as quickly as he can while Liam, who had been flipping through the channels aimlessly, finally settles on one with a woman sitting at a desk, the picture of a man in some sort of uniform in the upper right corner of the screen. A seemingly endless stream of words drifts across the bottom of the screen, but they bear no real meaning to Twelve, the picture of the man what holds his attention. Though he does not know the man’s name he recognizes his face immediately, recalls the taste of sweat-slicked skin coated in jam.

“Chief of Staff for the Ministry of Defence, Sir Jonathan Ellis, is under heavy fire for the racist and homophobic comments he made at a charity gala last night,” the woman on screen says. “Witnesses say he became hostile and belligerent as he attacked one of the servers and had to be forcibly removed from the gala by security. While there is no word yet on whether the man he assaulted intends to press charges, many have already taken to social media to express their outrage over the incident, which was captured on video by one of the attendees. I want to warn our viewers that the footage we are about to play is graphic.”

The picture in the corner is suddenly replaced by the blurry image of a man in a suit, which is then enlarged to fill the entire screen as video footage begins to play. The man in the suit, Jonathan Ellis, stands over another man, gripping the collar of his white shirt, already spattered with droplets of blood, as he delivers punch after punch to the man’s jaw and the side of his face. There are screams and cries in the background from the surrounding crowd, blurry figures scrambling away from the scene and others running towards it, distant shouts for help while someone closer to the camera begs Ellis to stop.

“ _Jesus_ _Christ_ ,” Liam whispers from beside him, grimacing as he stares at the screen.

The footage ends and the woman at the desk returns. “Although speculation continues to grow over what may have caused this sudden outburst, there has been no word yet on the matter from Ellis or the other man in the video, who for the time being has asked that his name not be released. We will, however, continue to follow this story as it develops and bring you the latest on any updates as they become available. In other news, a man reportedly found a six foot long snake in his toilet—”

“Bloody hell,” Liam says rolling his eyes as he switches the channel, “how do you go from such a serious story to utter shit like that?”

Twelve is unsure if this question is directed at him or at the woman on the television, but either way no answer is forthcoming and it is yet another example of Liam’s peculiar habits. He wonders if, in time, he will come to understand why Liam engages in such behavior. Already he is beginning to understand things about civilian customs that he never did before simply from his observations of television. For instance, he has now come to understand, at least in part, why civilians find television so entertaining. He is also beginning to understand why they like pubs so much. From what he has discerned from television so far, they seem to be hubs for a fascinating variety of activities aside from just reaching an altered state of consciousness, such as engaging in sparring sessions and copulating, activities that he knows civilians enjoy.

He has learned so much about civilian behavior from television in such a short amount of time. Yet even in all his observations of Liam thus far he is still no closer to understanding him: why he averts his eyes from Twelve’s gaze sometimes and casts nervous glances at him other times; why he seems so averse to giving Twelve orders; why he makes statements and asks questions there are no appropriate answers to; why he expresses such elaborate displays of emotion and sometimes even alarm over trivial things.

Perhaps Liam will always remain a mystery to him, but after all Twelve has witnessed these past few days one thing is clear. Liam is not, nor has he ever been, a Handler. Of this Twelve is now certain. While he had spent much of his first couple of days under Liam’s charge dismissing Liam’s unorthodox treatment of him and attempting to posit explanations for it; he realizes now that these were nothing more than feeble attempts at protecting himself, at denying what he already suspected to be true. But the realization brings with it a host of other questions that he does not know if he is prepared to face.

If Liam has never been a Handler and “Zayn” is not a code word but a name, _his_ name, then everything he knew, or thought he knew about himself is a lie. What is his purpose if not to be an operative? If not to serve? If not to follow protocol? If not to take orders and do what he is told? And what of his life before? A life that Liam remembers but he himself does not. It seems impossible, to have a life that one does not remember, a life where he was a normal civilian with a family and friends and without a duty to uphold. Yet that is what Liam has told him, and he has no reason to lie, has not lied to Twelve yet insofar as he knows. And what of his memories? His thoughts? Can they even be trusted? How much of what he knows, or thinks he knows, are ideas the Director planted and made him think were his own? How much were lies meant to placate him, to keep him from asking questions? Is anything he knows true or is it all lies? Has it always been lies?

He does not know. How _can_ he know when it seems he is at war with his own mind?

There is no other way to explain other than to affirm that he has opened a door that he cannot go back through and there is no one to fix him, no one to tell him what to do, or how to make the flood of questions stop. In all the years he spent at the bunker, he never once thought of it as being anything more than just another part of his routine, never thought himself capable of missing anything because that would imply the expression of emotions he does not feel. But for the first time in his life, the first time since he can remember at least, he finds himself longing for the stability of the bunker, the familiarity of it. It is a strange thing to experience, a strange thing to describe, and he does not even think he could put it into words to adequately explain were he to be asked. But at least in the bunker he knew his purpose, his place, was certain of his duties as an operative and knew how to fulfill them. With Liam none of that is certain, perhaps never will be again, and that is what unsettles him the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is probably obvious but just in case anyone was wondering the Ministry of Defence is basically like the Department of Defense in the US.
> 
> Also, I honestly don’t know how long it will be before the next chapter is posted, but just know that no matter how long it might be between updates I am definitely not abandoning this. This fic is my baby and I will see it through to the end. I love you guys and please, please, please leave comments and kudos because they inspire me to stay on my grind even when life tries to push me off lol :P <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for leaving you guys hanging for so long! Work’s been crazy and I also had like 4 other ziam fics/ficlets I was working on, 2 of which have been posted, and the other 2 will hopefully be posted sometime soon (and also a supergirl fic if you’re interested in that). But I digress, now onto what you actually came here for! Enjoy :)
> 
> [Trigger warning for poor handling/mismanagement of PTSD mostly only in the very beginning]

_Liam_

Things have been good for a little while now. Liam even, somewhat miraculously, managed to get a whole five days of paid sick leave off of work thanks to his countless overtime hours, and in that time has managed to set up a pretty consistent routine for him and Twelve. Up by seven so Twelve isn’t waiting on him too long—they’d tried five but Liam had gone through the whole day in a fog of exhaustion which hadn’t been good for either of them. Then, breakfast by half past seven, lunch by twelve, and dinner by six, interspersed with some telly, music, and occasional light reading. Light reading really just consisting of Liam reading random things aloud to Twelve because he came across a couple of studies that said it can be soothing for people with PTSD. He has no idea how well it’s actually working, or if it’s even working at all, but he figures it’s better than doing nothing until he can figure out something better. Things have been going too good for too long though—at least in Liam’s experience—and predictably it all goes to shit.

They’ve been holed up in his flat for about a week with him dodging calls from Louis, Harry, and Niall left and right, and really he should have expected it. But he’s let his guard down, too focused on Twelve and his carefully crafted routine to see the hints that any other time would be as clear as a neon sign. Louis has been casually mentioning things like interventions and raids all week even when they seemingly have nothing to do with the conversation, and Liam isn’t sure how he missed it, had no idea it was even possible for him to be that distracted. But evidently he was because he is not at all expecting the onslaught of chaos that ensues when all three of them come bounding through the door, arms full of grocery bags yelling all kinds of unintelligible nonsense in Liam’s general direction. But they’ve barely even made it all the way through the doorway—no time for Liam to warn them or even so much as open his mouth—before all hell breaks loose.

In the span of barely a blink Twelve somehow manages to leap over the couch and bound across the room, shoving Harry’s head against the door frame and pummeling Niall with a kick to the head all in one fluid movement. Barely able to even process what’s happening, Liam watches as both of them fall to the floor unconscious while Twelve pins Louis to the door by his neck, holding him at knifepoint with a kitchen knife. Liam doesn’t even remember seeing him take it from the knife block, everything happening too fast for him to even comprehend. But yet there it is, resting firm and sure in his grip as he holds it taut against Louis’ neck. Frozen still with shock, unable to make his mouth or his legs work, Liam watches in horror. For one agonizing moment everything is completely still, silent, like the bank all over again, except worse because this time it isn’t just his life on the line.

It’s Harry’s half-conscious groan that finally springs him into action. He racks his brain trying to recall all that he’s read about the best way to diffuse these kinds of situations, trying to recollect the important bits and pieces of what he remembers as quickly as he can. Until he finally comes up with, “Stand down, Twelve!” because he’s read that sometimes stop isn’t enough, sometimes they need something that aligns more with the headspace they’re in, and it sounds like something Liam would imagine Twelve’s Handlers saying to him.

When a beat passes and Twelve still hasn’t moved, his face still inches from Louis’, lips curled in a snarl, Liam tries again, makes sure to put more authority in his voice this time when he yells, “I said stand down, operative! Stand down!”

He hates himself for using the word, but sighs in relief when Twelve finally lets go, taking a step back from Louis and watching him carefully as Louis puts his hand to his throat reflexively and gulps in air. Liam looks down and finds the knife still firm in Twelve’s grip, but both his hands are thankfully back by his sides now and nowhere near anyone’s neck or otherwise vulnerable body parts. Liam rushes over, grabbing the knife from Twelve who’s still staring daggers at Louis, but loosens his grip at Liam’s touch. He slides the knife back into its slot in the knife block and then drags Twelve into his bedroom, saying, “Stay. Here,” as authoritatively as he can and then closing the door.

When he turns back around to face the other lads, it’s Louis who’s staring daggers at _him_ , Niall and Harry still slowly coming to.

“What. The fuck. Was that?” Louis says still hunched over slightly as he caresses his neck.

“What…what happened?” Harry mumbles groggily from the floor, rubbing at the back of his head.

“Oh, nothing,” Louis says icily, still glaring at him. “Liam just sicced his own private attack dog on us for no _bloody_ reason.”

“I didn’t—”

“ _Yeah_ , you did.”

Harry stands up, a little wobbly on his feet but still reaching out to help Niall up.

“S’going on, Liam?” Niall says, standing and squinting at him as he massages his head gingerly. “Who _was_ that?”

“It’s—he’s—um…” Liam hesitates, not sure what he could possibly say to make this all make sense without telling them all of it. For so long it’s been this huge secret, this huge thing weighing on him, but he can’t exactly hide it anymore what with Twelve trying to practically murder them all. He takes a deep breath, blows it out and finally says, “It’s a bit of a long story…you, um, you all might want to sit down…”

He tells them everything, everything he can remember anyway. Waking up to his mum’s panicked voice in his ear, “Love? Love, have you seen Zayn? Did he say anything to you, anything about running away?” The bright red and blue of the police lights at the end of the block, lighting up the whole street. Running barefoot and teary-eyed through lawns and across the pavement to Zayn’s house. Pounding his fists futilely against the chest of the police officer who wouldn’t let him past, screaming at the top of his lungs, “He’s not gone, he’s not gone! He wouldn’t leave me! He’s not gone!” Sitting on the living room couch, huddled between his parents answering useless questions that weren’t going to do anything to help bring Zayn back. Watching the police come back and forth for _weeks_ wasting time on interrogations and accusations when they could’ve been out looking for Zayn.

_How well do you know the Malik family? Have you ever seen these associates hanging around their house or at family gatherings? Have you ever seen anything suspicious in or around their house?_

And then there were the headlines:

_Parents accused of staging kidnapping as plot to announce terrorist message to public_

_Parents of local missing boy facing possible abuse allegations_

_Case Closed: Missing boy officially declared a runaway by police_

All of it lies.

He remembers crying into his pillow night after night just wishing Zayn would come back. Wishing he would come knocking on Liam’s window and say it was all a big joke. He remembers the kids at school and the way they looked at him, some with pity, others with hate. He remembers the moment he stopped being just Liam. The moment he became “terrorist sympathizer” and “that weird kid whose friend went missing” instead. He remembers eating his lunch in the art room because the art teacher was the only one out of all their teachers who’d taken the time to actually get to know Zayn in the short time he was there. The only one who didn’t look at Liam with pity in his eyes.

He remembers when the Malik family packed up all their things and left. And Liam didn’t blame them. Not one bit. Not when he knew that staying was slowly sucking the life out of them. The jeers, the dirty looks, the snide comments hidden in hushed whispers. The house that was simultaneously too full, but not full enough. Too full of pain and once-happy memories—so much they were suffocating in it—but not enough people, not enough to fill it, too much empty space that would never be filled again. He didn’t blame them for leaving, but that didn’t stop the ache from blooming in his chest when a new family moved in.

He remembers how the names and the looks followed him too for years. How they never seemed to lose their grip on him until at last came uni and he was finally free. Free to be just Liam again. And then came Louis and Harry and Niall, and he didn’t want their pity, didn’t want their sympathetic looks, didn’t want to ever stop being just Liam again. So he kept it all in, kept it bottled away where no one would ever find it, until that rainy spring day in March when it all came rushing back to hit him in the face, literally and figuratively.

“ _Christ_ ,” Louis says when Liam’s finished. He runs a hand through his hair, fidgeting anxiously in his place on the couch between Harry and Niall. “I guess I get why you didn’t tell us…”

“And why you’re so paranoid about the police,” Harry adds.

“Yeah, I mean, that’s seriously fucked up, Liam,” Louis continues. “I can’t believe they just gave up like that. You ask me, those fuckers should’ve been fired, trying to take the easy way out when a kid’s life was at stake.”

“Yeah, real class act they are,” Niall says sarcastically.

“Have you really been dealing with all this all on your own?” Harry asks, eyebrows furrowed and voice full of concern. “Like, not even your parents know?”

Liam shrugs. “They know I saw him at the bank. I caved and told them a few weeks after it happened. But I haven’t told them that he’s back yet. Didn’t know how really…didn’t know how to tell _any_ of you…”

“Liam, mate, you know you can tell us anything,” Louis says softly, lips curving up into a small smile. “S’what we’re here for, innit?”

“I mean, yeah, I know, but this is…this is _different_ , Lou. It’s not exactly just your run-of-the-mill secret, you know? I mean, what was I supposed to do, just call you all up and say, ‘Hey guys, so this super-spy-assassin showed up in my flat, but don’t worry it’s just my long-lost missing best friend who’s been brainwashed and doesn’t remember me. Anyway was just wondering if you guys could maybe pop by and help me out?’”

Louis nods mock-solemnly. “Yeah, that would’ve done.”

Liam rolls his eyes, but Niall just shrugs. “If nothing else, I would’ve come just out of curiosity to be honest.”

“Yeah, and probably ready to check me into the nearest loony bin to boot,” Liam says.

“Probably,” Niall agrees, smiling.

“So, he really doesn’t remember you?” asks Harry.

Liam shakes his head. “Doesn’t seem to remember anything before a certain point. S’like they just wiped it all out.”

“Then…how did he find you?”

Liam takes a deep breath before he speaks. “Don’t know. Been wondering that myself to be honest, but I’ve been too afraid to ask. Not sure I wanna know the answer, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, nodding. “I get that.”

“So, has he actually…you know, like, _killed people_?” Louis asks, whispering the last part as if he’s afraid to even say it out loud.

Liam swallows nervously. “I mean, he hasn’t stated it explicitly in so many words, but the stuff he described when I first asked him about the bunker—their training and stuff—knife and gun skills, hand-to-hand combat, plus their, um… _enhancements_ …not sure why they would need all of that except to, um…you know,” he finishes, shrugging lamely.

“ _Enhancements_? What kind of enhancements?”

Liam shrugs again, avoiding Louis’ gaze. “You saw fast he moved…when you guys came in, and—and how easily he pinned you even though he weighs next to nothing. S’not exactly natural, is it?”

Now it’s Louis’ turn to swallow nervously.

“If you wanna go,” Liam says softly, “I’ll understand. This isn’t your burden to bear, and it wouldn’t really be fair of me to—”

“Do you trust him?” Louis interrupts.

“What?”

“Do you trust him? Like, do you trust him not to kill you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess…I mean, he doesn’t really know how to function without someone taking care of him or giving him orders, so—”

“And he’ll do what you say?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, trying to figure out where Louis’ going with this.

“Okay, then, if you trust him, I trust him. But if he starts trying to kill me again, I’m depending on you to tell him to stop,” he says, pointing his finger at Liam in a mocking attempt at being stern. “I mean it, Liam, my life is in your hands.”

Liam smiles. Leave it to Louis to take such a tense situation and turn it into a joke.

“I doubt it’ll come to that now that he knows you guys aren’t a threat, but just in case, I promise to stop him…unless you’re being particularly annoying in which case all bets are off.”

That gets a laugh out of Niall, but Louis just rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“Well played, Liam,” Harry says, a tiny smirk on his lips.

Niall’s still laughing, but he’s perched so precariously on the edge of the couch that when Louis elbows him he slips right off and lands on his butt on the floor, which only makes him laugh harder.

Harry shakes his head and flicks Louis on the ear for good measure, fixing him with a glare, which Louis returns in equal force. But Harry ignores him, turning back to Liam and leaning forward, suddenly all seriousness again.

“Do you think it would be alright if we met him properly, like without fists and knives in the mix? Like give proper introductions and everything to show that we’re friendly and harmless…well, mostly,” he says, eyeing Louis dubiously.

“Um, yeah, I—I guess…if you guys are all alright with that.”

Niall nods, getting back up to take his place next to Louis on the couch and Louis regards him briefly before turning to Liam and nodding his assent as well.

Liam takes a deep breath and stands, pointing a thumb in the direction of his room. “Alright, then, I’m just going to, um…” he trails off, heading across to his door. When he opens it Twelve is standing exactly where he left him, staring out at the doorway with dead eyes.

“Christ,” Liam mutters under his breath before clearing his throat and moving closer. “Hey, so, there are, um…some people I’d like you to meet. They’re friends of mine and they don’t mean you any harm, so please don’t try to attack them, okay? Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, good. You can just come out into the living room with me and I’ll introduce you, okay?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, come on,” Liam says, guiding Twelve out into the middle of the room, right in front of the coffee table. “Right, so…guys, this is Twelve. Twelve, these are my friends, Harry, Louis, and Niall.” He points to each of them in turn and they each give a little smile and a wave.

Harry’s the first to speak.

“Nice to meet you, Twelve,” he says.

Twelve, predictably, doesn’t respond or give any kind of indication to acknowledge that he even heard him and Harry looks a little crestfallen.

“It’s not you,” Liam reassures him, “it’s just he only responds to direct questions and orders.

“Oh,” Harry says, looking a little more hopeful. “Well, in that case, how are you, Twelve?”

“I am fine,” he replies, eyes as dead and voice as monotone as ever.

Louis tries quickly to hide his reaction and school his face into something more neutral, but Liam doesn’t miss the slight grimace that crosses his face at Twelve’s response. He’s still not completely used to it himself, having someone speak to him in a voice so completely devoid of all emotion or look at him without seeming to really _see_ him, as if he’s looking _through_ him rather than at him. It’s pretty jarring to say the least, and he can’t blame Louis one bit for reacting the way he does. He sometimes still has to keep even himself from flinching at the harshness of it.

“Right,” Niall says loudly in an obvious attempt to dispel the awkward silence that’s starting to fill the room. “I feel like there should be beers for this conversation. Twelve, do you like beer?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer as he gets up, rummaging through the bags that are still strewn about the floor in front of the doorway.

“He, um, doesn’t really have likes and dislikes,” Liam answers for him, knowing Twelve will probably just give some monotone, programmed response like _I do not understand the question_ that will only make things even more awkward. “It’s more so just things that are agreeable with his stomach and things that aren’t.”

Niall nods his understanding as he crouches down, pulling out two six packs of beer from the bag that’s mostly ripped and inspecting the cans for damage. Seemingly satisfied that the beer is still in decent condition, he sets the other two bags—which appear to be full of crisps and cheese puffs and probably a whole bunch of other unhealthy snacks—upright on top of the counter.

“I’m guessing now’s probably not the best time to test that then, eh?” Niall says, smiling at Liam as he pulls four beers from their plastic rings.

“Yeah, probably not,” Liam says, smiling too as he jerks his head in the direction of the beers. “Three’s fine. I’m just gonna put on some tea for me and him. Reckon it’s probably better for me to keep a clear head for all this.”

“Fair point,” Niall agrees, nodding. He sets the fourth can back on the counter with the others and then heads back over to the couch to hand Louis and Harry their beers. Liam has Twelve sit so he’s not just standing there in the middle of the room awkwardly and then he heads to the kitchen to put on the kettle.

“Shall I break out some bowls for these crisps?” Liam calls across the counter, the sound of plastic crinkling as he jiggles ones of the packets for emphasis.

Niall shrugs as he plops down next to Louis, bonking him on the head with the bottom of his beer can. “Yeah, why not? Make it a proper Boys Night In and all that.”

“Niall, you twat!” Louis yells, overly loud as he reaches out for a nipple pinch, which Niall swiftly dodges.

“Oi! Quit it before you make me spill my beer all over Liam’s nice couch,” Harry chastises, eyebrows knit together with a seriousness completely unbefitting of the situation.

Liam smiles to himself as he sets about getting out bowls and napkins from the cupboards. How is it that he ended up with such amazing friends? Not only are they being ridiculously understanding about him keeping this huge secret from them for months—or years really, when you get down to it—but in a situation where anyone else would be completely freaking out they’ve just taken it in stride. They’ve gone right back to being their usual obnoxious selves as if this is all just no big deal, just another normal day in their crazy lives. And for the first time Liam thinks to himself that maybe he _can_ do this. It’s _not_ their cross to bear but they’re willing to anyway. And maybe if he just lets them help, lets them bear the weight a little, then he can actually get through this without feeling like he’s constantly drowning, sinking under all the pressure and the expectations.

Movement catches his eye and his gaze lands on Twelve who had previously been zeroed in all on the commotion on the couch but has now turned his attention back to Liam. Neck craned in his direction, Twelve watches him curiously from across the room, eyes boring a hole into the middle of his head and Liam wonders if he’ll ever get used to it. He wonders if he’ll ever look back at Twelve and see anything behind his eyes other than emptiness, or if he’ll eventually come to a point where he’ll realize that that’s all there is and stop looking for anything else. But those are questions for another time. Right now he’s got two armfuls worth of crisps and three hungry, and slightly drunk, lads to feed. He’s got three of the best friends in the world he could ever ask for laughing on his couch and his long lost best friend right there with him too, even if he’s not all himself yet—although Liam’s still holding out hope—and he’ll take it. He’ll take what he can get because sometimes it feels like these fleeting moments of happiness are all he needs to keep him going.

*

            It’s half past one in the morning by the time anyone even mentions leaving. The beers and crisps are long gone. Empty cans, bowls, and takeaway containers from the Chinese they ordered lay scattered across the coffee table. Niall and Harry help him clean up while Louis, predictably, sits on the couch scratching his belly and fiddling with his phone.

“You know it’d be nice if you actually helped clean up once in a while, Lou, especially considering you’re the one responsible for like ninety percent of this mess.”

“S’not my fault you keep your rubbish bins so far away from the couch, Liam,” Louis bites back, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

“Didn’t stop anyone else from throwing their shit away,” Liam says, glancing at Twelve who’s still sitting in the middle of the living room, and then smirking as an idea worms its way into his head. “If I threaten to sic Twelve on you, will that change your mind?”

Louis flips him off in answer, still not looking up from his phone and Liam frowns, seriously tempted to knock it right out of his hands. But instead he just huffs, rolling his eyes and picking up Louis’ trash himself.

Even after all the dishes have been cleaned and all the clutter finally cleared away though, Louis, Harry, and Niall still end up lingering till almost half two. Louis is splayed out on the couch still playing some game on his phone, Niall’s laid across the floor in between the couch and the coffee table sending drunk selfies to Sarah, and Harry’s curled up on the arm of the couch, half-asleep.

“Guys, I hate to be a party pooper but as much as I’ve enjoyed this Boy’s Night In, it _is_ getting late and I’ve still got to get Twelve in the shower.” He does a quick smell check of his pits and then adds, “And also take a quick one myself.”

Niall sends one last goofy selfie—Liam knows because even though Niall has his volume turned down low he can still hear the soft sound of the camera going off—and then he’s up, huddling Louis and a very groggy Harry up off the couch and towards the door with him.

“Come on, lads, out we go. Louis, you’re driving.”

“Why do _I_ have to drive?” Louis whines.

“Because I’m still a little drunk and I’m pretty sure Harry’s about to fall into a coma.”

“It’s not _my_ fault that Harry’s an old man or that you drank that entire second six pack by yourself.”

“Shut up. Anyway, I’m Irish, drinking’s what we do. S’why I work in a pub, innit? Now move your arse out the door so we can go home. I’m staying at yours tonight.”

“You know, Bossy Niall is my least favorite Niall.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get moving, you git, _for Christ’s sake_.”

“Alright, _mum_ ,” Louis gripes, finally opening the door and helping Niall shuffle a sleepy Harry out into the hallway. Liam says his goodbyes and starts to close the door behind them. But then he glances briefly back at Twelve, Louis’ words still ringing in his head when something suddenly clicks and he stops in his tracks and dashes out the door after them.

“Louis,” he calls, “hang on. I actually need to talk to you.”

Niall waves dismissively at them, mumbling something about waiting with Harry in the car and Louis turns back to Liam, eyebrows raised in question.

“I, um…I kind of need your help with something.”

Louis smirks. “Computer-related, I take it?”

“Yeah, sort of. I’ve been trying to track down Za—I mean, _Twelve’s_ family, his parents specifically, but so far I haven’t really had much luck. Do you think you could help?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure, I can do that. I’ve got a couple of programs I’ve been working on that could probably do the trick, but I’ll need a little more information first—full names: first, middle, and last if you can, birthdays, ages, occupations, past addresses and phone numbers—that sort of thing.”

Liam runs a hand through his hair in consternation. “That’s the thing, I sort of…don’t have all of that. I mean, I know their first and last names obviously, and the address of the house they lived in before they moved away, but I was pretty young when they left. I don’t really remember phone numbers or ages or anything, except for maybe like the house phone but that’s obviously not helpful anymore, and I have no idea how many times they might have moved since then or where. I remember his mum’s birthday was November 10th because it was the day after Ruth’s, but that’s about it.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Well, I _do_ like a challenge…send me the rest of the info you do have. It’ll take some time, but I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Alright. Thanks, Louis, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Can’t be easy, dealing with all of this on your own on top of all your work shit. I know I don’t always show it and I can be a right dick sometimes but I do care, and I’m here for you, mate.”

“Wow,” Liam says, smiling. “If I had known this is what it would take to get you to stop being an obnoxious dick for two seconds I would’ve faked a tragedy a lot sooner.”

“Fuck off, I’m trying to be nice here.”

Liam laughs. “I know, and I appreciate it, really. You guys took all this pretty well, considering.”

“Yeah, well, I think when it comes to you we’ve all grown accustomed to the weird and unexpected. Seriously, Liam, you have, like, the _worst_ luck known to man. You should really get that checked out, I’m starting to think it might be some sort of medical condition or something.”

“And we’re back to being a dick, already.”

Louis shrugs. “My niceness comes with a limited time warranty, you should’ve read the fine print.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Christ, you’re insufferable.”

“It’s only true if you can spell it.”

“ _Bye_ , Louis.”

“Knew it,” he teases, smirking.

“Whatever. I should probably get back in there to check on him anyway,” Liam says, pointing back towards the door of his flat. “I’ll send you the info later tonight.”

“Yeah, alright, good luck with him,” Louis calls over his shoulder as he turns to leave. “Make sure he doesn’t try to murder you in your sleep.”

“Will do.”

When he gets back inside his flat Twelve is still sitting on the floor exactly where he left him, staring straight at him, or more accurately, through him. He briefly wonders if Twelve could hear their conversation through the door. It seems ridiculous considering how softly they were talking and how thick the doors and walls are in this building. In fact, if he’s being totally honest it’s one of the things he likes most about this place. That the walls aren’t paper thin like they are at Niall’s and the fact that the closest building is also abandoned makes him feel like he has at least some semblance of privacy, unlike the last shithole flat he’d lived in. But as implausible as super-hearing might seem, he wouldn’t put it past Twelve. Considering all the time those people had him, the other “enhancements” they made, all the scars and tattoos; what little Liam _does_ know is probably just barely scratching the surface of everything they did to him to make him into the perfect little obedient soldier.

He runs a hand over his face, resigned. Just one more question to add to the ever-growing list he’s started making in his head. Pretty soon he’s going to have to start actually writing them all down. But he’ll worry about that another time, for now he just beckons Twelve toward the bathroom and starts up the shower.

*

When he wakes it's to his phone vibrating violently on his nightstand. He reaches out for it blindly and then squints an eye open to see Harry’s smiling face staring back at him. He has no idea what time it is but he knows it’s way too early for this, so he lets it ring and then drops it right back on the nightstand. Only to have it start ringing again not even a minute later. Huffing exasperatedly, he throws the covers back and sits up, grabbing the phone.

“Harry, it’s way too early for this,” he grumbles into the phone as an answer.

“Oh, did I wake you?”

“Of course you woke me, it’s arse o’clock in the morning.”

“Sorry, I thought you’d already be up. Yesterday when you were talking about your routine and everything you said you were usually up by seven…”

Liam glances at his clock, which reads 7:14, and frowns. He must’ve slept right through his alarm, which he rarely does.

“Yeah, well, you guys did keep me up pretty late last night, to be fair,” he says, glancing down at Twelve who’s already up, of course, watching him as usual.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“S’alright, it was nice. Reckon I needed it, to be honest.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Harry says and Liam can practically hear him smiling through the phone.

“So, what are _you_ doing up so early?”

“Nothing in particular,” Harry says. Liam can hear the distant sound of a spoon tapping against ceramic and knows before Harry even says it that he’s making tea. “Was just up and decided to make a cuppa, do a bit of thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Liam says automatically.

“Shut up, you,” Harry replies, snorting. “Anyway, I was actually thinking that with you going back to work this week maybe I could come stay for a bit, keep an eye on Twelve for you while you’re gone and help out a little around the flat.”

“Oh. I, um…that’s really nice of you, Haz, but I just—I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I mean, he just met you and he’s already had to adjust to so much. I just think it might be a bit _too_ much all at once to add another person into the mix on top of everything else, you know?”

“I know, I was thinking about that too, but…you need _someone_ to keep up the routine, right? And to make sure he doesn’t do anything crazy while you’re gone. I was thinking we could use this weekend as, like, a test period. I could come over later today and stay the night, see how everything goes, plus it’ll give him a chance to get used to me a little, and if everything goes well then maybe I can stay for a few more days, or for however long you need me.”

Liam sighs. “I don’t know, Haz…”

“You don’t have to decide right now. Just take a little time to think about it and let me know what you decide later. Whatever your decision is, I’ll respect it.”

Liam scrubs a hand over his face roughly and sighs again. “Yeah, alright. I’ll think about it.”

“Great!” Harry pipes. “So, how is Twelve this morning?”

Liam shrugs even though Harry can’t see him. “Same as yesterday, I guess. He’s just sitting here staring at me like he does every morning.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, that he likes to stare.”

“I should hope so, it’s kind of hard _not_ to considering how creepy it is. Although I don’t think ‘like’ is really the right word for it.”

“You think they trained him to do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Makes for a pretty good scare tactic though, don’t you think?”

“Mmm. Yeah, good point.”

“But either way I don’t think it’s so much a matter of it being something he ‘likes’ to do as much as it is that’s all he knows. I mean, between the protocols and the mind wiping and the shitty way they treated him they pretty much drilled any kind of normal human social development right out of him. Is it even possible for him to get that back at this point?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says. “I may have been a psych major in uni but this isn’t exactly my area of expertise. I’m more equipped to deal with depression and anxiety and the occasional mood swing or two than I am with _this_ , although to be honest this is quite possibly out of even the most experienced psychologist’s depth. I mean, we’re delving into literal science fiction here. Superhuman abilities? Wiped memories? It all sounds like something out of a movie—”

“It sounds like something out of a comic book,” Liam cuts in dryly. The irony isn’t lost on him that Zayn wound up as practically a living incarnation of all the comic book characters they used to stay up late at night reading about, human science experiments gone terribly wrong. It’s as if this is the universe’s idea of a cruel joke.

“Exactly,” Harry agrees. “I mean, hypothetically speaking, if it were any other case I’d say it’s too late for him to develop those social skills. After you get past a certain age there’s sort of no going back with that sort of thing, you know? But given the fact that he definitely _had_ those skills at some point…like, before he was taken…I don’t know, it’s possible, I guess, that he could get that back to some degree. Although there’s a chance that it might always be stunted.”

Liam shakes his head. “I mean, _Christ_ , the fact that there are even people out there who could _do_ this to someone though, to _children_ no less, and not even think twice about it…it makes me _sick_ , Haz. Absolutely _sick_.”

“Yeah, well, one thing you _do_ learn being in psych is that there are some seriously fucked up people out there. People who truly and honestly don’t give a shit about who they hurt or how what they do affects anyone but themselves. People like that Director guy you were telling us about yesterday, the one who ran the military base or whatever it was that Twelve was in.”

“Bunker,” Liam corrects.

“Shit, right, bunker. Sorry, this is all just so much.”

“Trust me, I know,” Liam says solemnly.

“Honestly, Liam, I don’t know even how you’ve even been dealing with it all by yourself,” Harry says exasperatedly.

“Yeah, well, if I’m being completely honest with myself I haven’t really been ‘dealing’ with it at all. I’ve actually sort of just been trying my best _not_ to deal with it.”

“Well, if at any point you need someone to talk to, you know I’m always here for you, mate. And if you decide to let me come help, I’ll be at your beck and call 24/7 whenever you need me.”

Liam smiles. “Thanks, Haz. I’ll let you know what I decide.”

“Alright. Bye, Liam, say hi to Twelve for me!”

That actually rouses a laugh out of Liam. Just the sheer normalcy of it and the fact that they both know Twelve wouldn’t respond either way, other than maybe to cock his head or blink confusedly at him, has him snorting with laughter into the phone.

“Sure, mate, I’ll tell him,” Liam says. “Talk to you later, Haz.”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone!”

“Of course you will. Later!”

When he’s hung up he looks down at Twelve, fighting down another small bubble of laughter as he says, “Harry says hi,” more out of curiosity for how he’ll respond than anything.

Just a blink is all he gets. Not even a cock of the head or a confused glance. Oh well, Liam thinks, it was worth a try. He gets up, pausing briefly to stretch, and then herds Twelve with him into the bathroom so they can get ready to start their day.

*

            He ends up agreeing to Harry coming by for the weekend and it goes so well, so much better than he expected even, that Liam agrees to let him stay for the week. Harry falls right into place with their little routine, helping out with meals and grocery shopping and looking after Twelve and such. And it’s honestly just such a relief to not have to constantly worry about every little thing now that he has Harry to help. Twelve doesn’t seem at all bothered by the change either, not that he’d show it anyway if he were. But Liam still spends the first couple of days on edge, half-worried that he might lash out somehow despite his seemingly calm disposition.

Harry’s good with him though. He’s patient and understanding and, unlike Liam, doesn’t completely freak out over Twelve’s programmed responses or his robotic behavior. This is the sort of thing he was trained for though, back when they were at uni, so it’s really not all that much of a surprise and Liam finds himself regretting not telling them all sooner because it would have been nice to have this from the start. It’s like a weight’s been lifted off his chest and he can finally breathe free again. Well, mostly. He still worries, doesn’t think he’ll ever _stop_ worrying until he can find a way to bring Zayn, the old Zayn, back to himself again. And even then he would probably still worry, but it’s nice not to have it be such a constant pressure. It’s nice to be able to wake up and go about his day and know that Twelve will be taken care of while he’s gone. It’s nice to come home to Twelve and Harry sitting on the couch sipping tea while they watch the telly. Or to Twelve sitting quiet and studious while Harry works and reads the occasional draft of one of his articles out loud to him.

It starts to feel normal, so normal in fact that Liam is completely caught off guard when after three weeks of staying with them he wakes up one morning to find Harry gone. He wanders out into the living room, giving Twelve a cursory nod more out of habit than anything as he makes his way groggily to the bathroom, only to realize a moment later that Twelve is sitting on the couch alone. He stops where he is, whipping his head around the room but Harry is nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Harry?” he finally asks.

“I do not know,” Twelve says, tearing his attention away from the telly screen and directing it to Liam.

“Well, was he here when you woke up?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Approximately one hour ago.”

Liam sighs. “And he didn’t say where he was going?”

“No. My orders are to tell you there is a note on the counter.”

Finally, a helpful answer. Liam ambles over to the counter to find a giant sticky note stuck haphazardly next to the stove in Harry’s half-cursive scrawl.

_Made Twelve breakfast,_

_help yourself to leftovers :)_

_Gone home to pick up more clothes,_

_be back soon!_

_-H_

Liam turns and sure enough there’s a plate with a cover over it sitting right in front of the microwave. He lifts the cover to find scrambled eggs and a slice of beans and toast and pops it in the microwave while he goes to wash up and brush his teeth. He comes back out just as the microwave beeps and he nibbles at the food while he makes tea for himself and Twelve, who’s currently engrossed in an episode of Friends, which Liam finds hilarious. It’s the first part of the one where they’re in Vegas and Liam inadvertently draws Twelve’s attention back to him when he laughs out loud at the scene where Rachel and Ross keep trying to one-up each other on the plane to see who can embarrass each other the most.

“It’s funny cause it’s something little kids would do,” Liam tries to explain, but Twelve just blinks back at him, not even showing a hint of recognition or understanding. Liam sighs, shoulders sagging in resignation. He wishes Harry were here, he’s so much better at explaining things like jokes and social norms to Twelve than Liam is. The first time it happened they’d been watching some cheesy kids’ movie and both he and Harry had cringed and let out pained little groans in sympathy when one of the kids kneed the evil villain in the crotch. Twelve had turned to them curiously, clearly not understanding their reactions until Harry had explained the concept of “pain empathy” to him and its importance for survival. It was like Harry had opened up an English-to-Brainwashed Assassin dictionary and was suddenly able to speak Twelve’s language. A language it seems Liam has yet to get a decent grasp on considering how spectacularly he just failed in his attempt to explain a simple joke.

“Never mind,” he mutters, taking the two steaming mugs of tea over to the couch with him and passing one to Twelve. “Harry can explain it to you better when he gets back.”

Nothing but a blank stare in response. Liam sighs again, sipping at his tea as he turns back to the show and tries not to get himself too wrapped up in his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re the trigger warning mentioned in the beginning note: In Liam’s defense he doesn’t really know what the fuck he’s doing tbh, but still, in general shoving someone in a room, shutting the door in their face and leaving them alone is generally not a good way to handle things when it comes to someone with PTSD (or anyone in general lol, especially when said person was only trying to protect you the best way they know how)
> 
> Also, I know I tagged this as explicit and so far there hasn’t really been much of anything happening to warrant it but we will get there, I promise!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another double post to make up for the wait!

_Zayn_

Twelve does not know what to make of Liam’s associates. In all his time spent observing people he does not think he has ever encountered a more peculiar group. Not only are they are oddly tactile, especially for a group of males, but their interactions confuse him even more than Liam’s strange antics.

Louis in particular fascinates him, in large part because he bears a strong resemblance to Handler A*, but also because he seems to be the catalyst for the majority of the conflicts that occur, if they can even be called this. Twelve is unsure how exactly to classify them since they appear to start off as conflicts but usually end in laughter rather than the physical violence he expects. Although there is no shortage of physical violence either, it appears to be more superficial than anything, which is yet another strange concept to him. Why bother with the pretense of the act if you do not intend to fully execute it? He does not understand the purpose of it.

Nor does he understand the purpose of Harry’s visit. Liam explains that Harry is simply staying for a few days to help him around the flat. But Twelve suspects that this is not the true reason for his being there as he has seen no evidence of Liam having trouble completing any of his normal day-to-day tasks on his own before now. He is almost certain that Harry is there for no other reason than to monitor him while Liam is away, but it does not matter to him. A Handler is a Handler and so far Harry and Liam have proved to be much more accommodating than most of his others, with the exception, of course, of Handler D.

Harry is curious both in his similarities and his contrasts to Liam. He is gentle and mild-mannered in the same way that Liam is but seems to exhibit more patience and control over his emotions than Liam does. He is calm and diplomatic in a way that Liam is not and methodical in the way he speaks to Twelve whereas Liam seems to be more impulse-driven, spurred on by his emotions in the moment. They make a fascinating parallel and Twelve finds himself intrigued by them.

Twelve is sitting on the couch watching a television program called Friends with Liam when he hears Harry coming down the corridor outside, easily recognizable by the drag of his feet and the slightly unsteady gait that often has him tripping over his own limbs. He hears the sound of keys jingling, loud enough for even Liam to hear, as Harry fumbles to unlock the door. Liam turns at the noise, waiting expectantly, but the soft, persistent scraping sound of metal on metal is enough to signal to Twelve that Harry is struggling to fit the key in place, his hands probably too full for proper dexterity. He can hear Harry shifting in place and cursing along with the rustle of some sort of rough material. Liam stands, poised to go open the door just as Harry finally gets it open, stumbling through the doorway with a large duffle bag.

“Hey,” he addresses them both, smiling at them over the top of the bag.

“Hey, welcome back,” Liam says, still standing near the edge of the couch, smiling back. “Need some help with that?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just gonna drop it right here if that ‘s all right,” Harry says, letting the bag fall to floor in front of the small table just inside the doorway.

“Yeah, that’s fine. You just reminded me though I really need to work on getting you and Twelve proper blow-up beds.”

Harry waves a hand in the air. “It’s no problem. The couch is plenty comfortable.”

“No, it’s not,” Liam says, laughing. “You don’t have to lie.”

“No, seriously. Blow-up beds always leave me tossing and turning. Too soft. The firmer, the better in my opinion, and your couch has, like, the perfect firmness.”

Liam raises an eyebrow and Harry laughs.

“I promise I’m not just trying to make you feel better. I’m being totally serious here. You might not find it comfortable, but to me your couch is like heaven, seriously.”

“Alright, if you say so.” Liam shrugs.

“I do say so,” Harry replies, grinning as he takes off his rain jacket, dropping his key into his pocket and pulling his phone out.

“How’s Louis?” Liam asks.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Lonely. Or so he claims, but I think what he really misses is having someone to constantly annoy. Ever the Drama Queen, that one.”

“Always,” Liam says, smiling.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at his phone. “So, I’ve been doing a lot of research lately, trying to figure out things we can do to help Twelve that don’t require the help of outside sources like a licensed psychiatrist, and I got a little bored on the train ride back and decided to do some deep googling, like seriously deep. Anyway, I found a bunch of info on these studies where they found that writing can really help. Like journaling and things of that sort, and I thought maybe it would help if we got him a journal where he could write down some of his thoughts and things?”

“Oh…yeah, that could be good. I just, um, I’m not sure if he still, you know…knows how to…write.” Liam lowers his voice unnecessarily at the last word, glancing nervously at Twelve as if he is afraid he will react adversely to the statement. But Twelve simply continues watching his and Harry’s exchange, trying to align what he sees with what Harry has explained to him about social norms thus far. It is rather enlightening not just watching the conversation as he is so used to doing, but actually being able to understand the reasoning behind their jokes and their expressions.

Liam turns to him, still appearing a bit anxious. “Would you, um…would you be comfortable with that, Twelve? Writing your thoughts down?”

“Yes.” He sees no reason why writing should cause him any discomfort. But as Harry has explained to him, sometimes people ask questions that they already know the answers to as a courtesy to provide comfort to themselves and the person they are speaking to. Twelve does not need the courtesy but he understands now Liam’s need to extend it anyway, the need to reassure himself that he is not overstepping some invisible and meaningless social boundary.

Harry smiles at him before turning back to Liam. “I can pop round to the shops later and pick up some notebooks.”

“That’s alright, I can do it,” Liam says, shaking his head and glancing at Twelve a little apprehensively again.

“Oh ok.” Harry glances between the two of them suspiciously. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

“No.”

The expression on Harry’s face suggests that he does not believe Liam.

Liam sighs. “It’s nothing. Really. I’m just…a little frustrated with myself, that’s all.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Liam shrugs, rubbing his neck. “Maybe later.”

Harry nods but doesn’t say anything else and Liam comes back to the couch to continue watching the program.

Later, after Liam has changed into his sleeping attire and it is almost time for lights out, he pulls out a package from the plastic shopping bag now sitting on his desk. It is a stack of notebooks covered in some sort of clear plastic wrapping, which Liam rips away quickly before picking up the notebook on the top.

He hands it to Twelve along with a pen, saying, “So, me and Haz thought it would be good if we made this into sort of a nightly routine. That way you could get your thoughts out from the day and maybe sleep a little better. It might seem a little overwhelming at first but there’s no pressure. Just write about whatever comes to mind. What life was like in the bunker, how you feel, or don’t feel, about living here, what you think of me and Harry and the other lads, whatever you feel like writing. It’s okay if you don’t know what to write or if you just don’t want to. We just figured it might be good to try this for a little while but if it’s not helpful then we can always try something else.”

Liam smiles at him, then climbs into bed, opening up his laptop and Twelve looks down at the notebook in his hands. It appears to be of a standard size with misshapen black and white spots on the cover, a white rectangular box at the top that reads Composition Book in bold, black letters with lines underneath. He opens it and begins to write:

_Liam has told me to write so I am writing. I do not fully understand the purpose of this exercise but operatives must do as instructed without question and I have been instructed to write down my thoughts as they come. Liam appears pleased to see me writing. He is smiling at me from the bed. However, I am unsure how to carry out his orders correctly. He has instructed me to write about life in the bunker, how I feel about living here, and what I think of him and Harry and their associates. But I do not know how to fulfill these orders. It is unclear whether he wants me to write about routine in the bunker, protocols, staff, other operatives, a specific memory or some other facet of my time there. I do not know what Liam expects me to “feel” about living here or in what capacity he wants me to write about him and his associates. I do not know if this entails physical attributes, personality traits, mannerisms, speech patterns, some other specific attributes, or some combination of all of these. I also do not know how long I am expected to spend on this exercise. I suppose I will simply have to wait to see if Liam is satisfied._

Twelve puts down the notebook and pen and waits, watching Liam type. His attention is wholly focused on his computer screen and it is some time before he turns back to Twelve.

“Done?” he says, glancing at the clock on his bedside table.

Twelve glances at it too, noting that he spent approximately eight minutes total writing and waiting and that this must be the expected time parameter for this exercise.

“Yes,” he says, handing the notebook to Liam for inspection.

“Oh,” Liam says, shaking his head, “no, it’s—it’s not for me to read. It’s for you, it’s supposed to be private.”

“Private?” Twelve repeats, confused. Privacy is not a luxury afforded to operatives so it is strange now to hear it used in reference to himself.

“Just for you. Unless…I mean, unless you, um, you _want_ me to,” Liam says, brow furrowed. “Do you want me to?”

“Operatives do not have wants.”

“Right. Um…” Liam runs a hand through his hair, appearing deep in thought for a few brief moments before he continues, “would it—would it bother you if I did? Would you…mind?”

“No.” He tries to hand Liam the notebook again but Liam just shakes his head once more.

“It’s alright. I’m not sure I wanna read it just yet. How about you just keep it with you for now?”

Twelve has grown mostly accustomed to Liam’s strange habit of giving orders in the form of questions by now so he simply closes the notebook, setting it by his pillow, and lies down. Liam closes his laptop and turns out the lights a few minutes later.

*

In the morning, after Liam has served them all breakfast, he and Harry sit at the counter, heads bowed together as they whisper softly. Twelve is sitting on the couch watching television and drinking the tea Liam made him. The volume is turned up fairly high but not enough to obscure their conversation and Twelve splits his attention between the television and them.

“—don’t know if I should read it, you know? I mean, on the one hand it feels sort of like an invasion of his privacy. But on the other hand, he doesn’t really seem to have much of a concept of privacy or care either way anyway and, I don’t know, it might help me understand him better.”

“Well, it’s really up to you,” Harry says. “I mean, I get not wanting to, to try to give him some semblance of the privacy he probably never had. But ultimately the end goal here is to help him, and since he doesn’t really talk much outside of being prompted if reading it helps you help him…I don’t know, it might be worth it.”

Liam does not say anything in response but Twelve hears the soft rustle of movement that likely means he’s nodding.

On the television a headline comes across the screen in bright white letters that has Harry and Liam shuffling forward towards the couch. _Breaking News: New Development in the Martin Ellis Case_ , it reads before panning out to a woman sitting at a large desk.

“Breaking news, Hamza Asaad, the previously unidentified man who was attacked and assaulted at a charity gala by Chief of Defence Staff, Sir Martin Ellis, has come forward and confirmed that he will in fact press charges. Police reports confirm that Ellis is being charged with assault and battery in the second degree and that the incident will be prosecuted as a hate crime.”

“Christ. You been following this?” Liam says to Harry, nodding to the television as he leans against the side of the couch.

“Yeah, I mean, who hasn’t? It’s mental, isn’t it? Makes you wonder what could cause a person to just snap like that…though I guess if you’re that much of a racist and a homophobe it probably doesn’t take much.”

“Yeah.” Liam nods. “You know what’s weird though is…well, doesn’t he sort of remind you of Twelve a little? The guy that got attacked, I mean. They keep showing his picture and the footage from the gala and I can’t help seeing the similarities, you know?”

“Hmm, maybe.” Harry cocks his head slightly, scrutinizing the pictures of Ellis and Asaad onscreen. “Definitely not the eyes, but the cheekbones, jawline and nose, yeah, especially if his hair was a little longer…yeah, I see it now. That _is_ a bit weird. Universe is funny that way though, I guess, isn’t it? Like when you learn a new word or something and suddenly you start seeing it everywhere.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Think it’s just my overactive brain looking for something where there’s nothing.”

Liam takes Twelve’s empty tea cup and goes to wash it in the sink while Harry comes around the couch to sit next to him, watching the rest of the news story with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In case anyone needed/wanted a reminder, here is how I imagine [Handler A](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/handler-a)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always feel free to leave comments and kudos if you’re so inclined because they give me life! :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! :)

_Liam_

Three and a half weeks into the journaling experiment Liam has started with Twelve, he caves and decides to read it. It’s not a decision he takes lightly even though he knows it probably makes no difference to Twelve. But seeing the way Harry is with him just makes Liam feel so inadequate and whenever he’s alone with him it feels like there’s this giant void between them that he has no hope of crossing. Harry’s of the belief that if it helps Liam understand him better then it can’t hurt. But it still feels a little wrong for him to essentially go poking around in Twelve’s private thoughts, which is why he holds off for so long.

He only reads the first few entries at first; wary of feeling like he’s pushing the boundaries too far by reading more, but even those are harrowing enough on their own. It’s like reading the inner monologue of a robot. There are detailed descriptions of him and Harry and the other lads, ranging from their physical makeup to their mannerisms and “affectations of speech.” There are thorough and comprehensive accounts of what Liam— and/or Harry if the bedroom door was open—were doing while he was writing, the precise times of each observation catalogued along with what time he began and finished writing. There are lists of daily routines, detailed comparisons between that of the bunker, here, and what Liam figures must have been his routine from when he was living on the streets. There is an alarming number of “observe Liam’s” listed in that section of the routine log but Liam tries his best not to dwell too much on that for now.

It’s clear he’s going to have to start being a little, or possibly a lot, more specific about a lot of things. He hadn’t even realized how vague so much of what he says must come across to someone who’s so used to being given very specific and concrete orders. There’s so much he hadn’t even considered about what he’s been doing and saying up to now, so many possibilities and misunderstandings that hadn’t even occurred to him until he reads it through Twelve’s point of view. No wonder he’s been feeling so incredibly inadequate and out of his depth all this time when it comes to interacting with Twelve, it’s because he _is_. He has no idea what he’s doing and it clearly shows, as evidenced by Twelve’s detailed commentary on him.

He’s going to have to have a serious talk with Harry about how to _not_ be such a confusing arsehole around Twelve and how to be more like how Harry is with him, patient, clear, understanding. In short, he needs a crash course on Twelve Speak and also apparently basic communication skills.

*

Liam is just getting home from work, shuffling out of his shoes and dropping his work bag to the floor when Harry turns to him, beaming.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Liam replies from where he’s bent over his bag trying to wiggle his computer out from between a mountain of papers, crinkling his eyebrows a little in suspicion because Harry looks like he’s about to bounce right out of his seat, grin splitting his face wide.

“Hello.”

Liam whips his head around in shock, certain he can’t have heard right. But no, that was definitely Twelve’s voice and when he looks up Twelve is staring right at him over the back of the couch. He looks to Harry, who’s still beaming like a maniac, for explanation but Harry just breaks out into laughter like this is not a ridiculously and monumentally huge development that’s left Liam completely flabbergasted.

“Oh, my God, your _face_. I knew you’d be surprised but that was way more hilarious than I thought it would be.”

“Haz, what—” but he cuts himself off, shaking his head because he’s not even sure how to finish that sentence or what he was going to say in the first place.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Harry says, still giggling, “although I guess it’s a bit late for that now, but I figured it’s time we start re-teaching him some basic social skills, starting with greetings. You know, so he can learn to, like, start functioning as a full-fledged person again, as much as he can anyway. I was thinking we could pick something different to focus on each week, let him have the week to practice and get the hang of it before we move on to the next thing.”

“Oh…um, yeah, that actually does sound like a good idea. Just…maybe a little warning next time would be nice.”

“But that would’ve ruined the surprise,” Harry says, mock-pouting.

“Yeah, and also _not_ given me a heart attack,” Liam says pointedly, finally pulling his laptop free but still managing to give himself a nasty paper cut in the process. He makes his way over to the recliner besides the couch and nods at the telly. “So, what are we watching?”

Harry shrugs. “Something called SpaceMonsters 3000. It’s terrible and I don’t really understand any of it, but on the plus side I’m pretty sure Twelve doesn’t either so at least I’m not alone.”

“Why are you watching it, then?” Liam says smiling and shaking his head.

Harry shrugs again. “Main character’s hot.”

Liam turns to the screen where a man with long, wavy purple hair and spiral horns coming out of his forehead is ripping off his shirt. He’s standing in a pool of steaming pink water, yelling, “Come and get it! Come at me!” at the giant green, blobby monster charging at him and Liam makes an appreciative noise in the back of his throat because yeah, objectively, he is kind of hot, if you ignore the horns and the weird spikes coming out of his arms.

He sighs, glancing back down at his open laptop. He kind of wants to watch the film with them now because it looks terrible in an interesting kind of way but he also has a deadline and this insurance claim isn't going to rewrite itself. Hopefully it’ll just repeat some other time when he can actually sit down to watch it. For now he just gets settled in his seat, feet up on the footrest, and gets to work.

*

It’s been about a month since they started this little social experiment with Twelve and so far he’s been doing fairly well with his weekly social skills. A large part of that is probably just due to the fact that he takes the lessons as orders and follows them to a tee but at least it’s something. It’s still awkward seeing as his “flat affect” as Harry calls it makes almost everything that comes out of his mouth sound either incredibly sarcastic or incredibly rude. Which is ironic considering he still doesn’t even really understand either of those concepts. But those are more advanced problems for another time. For the moment their main concern is getting him to understand the usefulness of the skills and to practice using them.

It’s the morning after another Boy’s Night In, which has sort of become their new weekly thing in place of their usual pub night now that Twelve’s been added into the mix. Niall even switched around his schedule so he’d be off on Fridays and free to come over. It’s the perfect chance for Twelve to practice what he’s learned on people other than just the two of them while Liam and Harry unwind a little.

Liam wakes to find Twelve already in the living room sitting in a circle on the floor with Harry, Niall and Louis, coffee table still pushed to the side from last night. Liam had agreed to let them stay over after checking it was okay with Twelve who, predictably, didn’t care either way. He knows it might seem pointless to even ask, but he feels like it’s important in this whole recovery process that Twelve knows he has a say even if he’s not self-aware enough yet for that to really mean much of anything to him. It’s part of the reason why he’s made it his own personal mission to treat Twelve as much like a person as possible and not like the weapon and personal plaything the Director and everyone else involved in the program probably saw him as. He hopes that eventually Twelve _will_ start to see himself as more than just what they made him, as an actual person and not just an operative whose sole purpose is to follow orders.

Right now Louis and Niall are trying to explain the rules of Telephone to him but he’s very clearly having trouble understanding why someone would purposefully mess up the intended message.

“It’s a bit like an elaborate joke,” Harry explains. “The ‘official’ rules are to pass along the message as it was recited to you. But just like in real life when people pass along a message, everyone’s memory or understanding of it might not be reliable. Details get lost or changed so much as it passes along that you end up with a completely different message than the one you started with. What makes the game fun is watching it happen in real time. When the last person announces to the group what they heard, the expectation is that it’s going to be the same although it’s usually not. But sometimes to make it more fun, people like Lou will intentionally change it to something that sounds similar but that they think is funnier to make everyone laugh when it gets to the end. Understand?”

“Yes,” Twelve says at the same time that Louis shouts, “Boring! Way to take all the fun out of the game, Haz.”

Harry shrugs. “Well, he has to learn somehow, doesn’t he? And you weren’t exactly helping with your explanation, you were just confusing him more.”

“Oi, look who’s finally up!” Niall says, flashing Liam a bright smile.

“Morning, guys. How long’ve you been up?”

“Not long. Maybe around half an hour? Not nearly as long as Harry and Twelve here.” He points a thumb in Twelve’s direction, but he’s sitting so close to him that it almost pokes him in the face and Twelve furrows his brows at it. Liam’s heart thumps loudly in his chest for one horrifyingly long second, afraid of how Twelve might react, but the second passes and nothing happens and Liam lets out the little puff of breathe he’d been holding in.

“Yeah, how’s that been, Young Harold, getting up at the ass crack of dawn and all that?” Louis teases.

“Actually not so bad. I definitely get a lot more work done, especially now that I don’t have to worry about certain people constantly distracting me.” He looks pointedly at Louis but Louis just pokes him in the cheek, right where his dimple is, and smirks.

“You know you miss me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Harry says, batting his hand away.

Liam just shakes his head and continues on his way to the bathroom.

Once he’s brushed his teeth and rinsed the sleep out of his eyes, he putters around the kitchen setting things out for tea. “Breakfast anyone?”

Niall’s hand immediately flies up. “I call first plate!”

“Full English breakfast, please,” Louis says, tone pompous.

“Fuck off,” Liam says. “Leftovers is what you’re going to get because leftovers is what we have. Harry?”

“I’m good. Me and Twelve already ate.”

“And you didn’t think to leave any for the rest of us?” Louis says, hand pressed to his chest in mock offense.

“No, because you’re full grown adults who can make your own food. Besides it was only cereal, if I had left bowls out for you lot it’d be soggy by now and your milk probably would’ve gone sour.” Niall makes a face at that and Harry adds, “Exactly.”

They end up sprawled across the floor in front of the telly, twisted up in the last pair of spare blankets Liam has, which Niall and Louis had been forced to share overnight. As Harry tells it there was a lot of kicking and grumbling and blanket-hogging on both their parts, but neither of them will admit to it. They split the remaining leftover Chinese and Indian takeaway from the night before between the three of them for breakfast and follow it up with stale popcorn, also leftover from the night before, while they flip through random channels. Harry manages to find the SpaceMonsters 3000 film again, which, on a stroke of luck, is just beginning as he flips to it.

“Yes!” Liam shouts, throwing his hands up in the air and spilling popcorn bits everywhere.

“Okay…what’s up with him?” Louis says slowly, leaning forward to direct his question right past Liam to Harry on Liam’s other side.

Harry laughs. “He’s just excited cause this was on the other day and he didn’t get to watch the whole thing cause he had work stuff to finish.”

“Is it _that_ good?”

“No, it’s terrible, but in the _best_ way,” Harry says, grinning. Louis makes a face but Harry shakes his head. “No, seriously, this movie will change your life, I promise.”

“I’m not sure I really trust your judgment when it comes to films, Harold, but if it’s decent enough to get Liam this excited, I guess I’ll give it a go.” He crosses his arms resolutely, turning back to face the screen where the opening credits are just beginning.

*

Predictably, Louis won’t stop raving about the film when it’s over.

“But the part where he rips his robe off and goes, ‘I’m trans, deal with it!’ Like, the level of queer representation with all the characters is just— _how_ did I live my entire life without seeing this movie? _How_ , Liam?”

“Dunno, Louis. I guess the same way you’ve lived your entire life without ever helping people clean up,” he chastises, slamming an empty takeaway container into the bin he’s moved next to the couch to punctuate his point.

He _had_ been on a high right along with Louis shortly after the film finished but it had quickly dissipated when Louis stayed planted firmly in his spot while Liam, Harry, and Niall cleaned around him as per usual. Louis picks up a stray plastic fork that lies forgotten down by his feet and flicks it into the bin, almost hitting Liam, who’s still standing right in front of it, in the face with the fork in the process.

“See?” Louis says, smiling overly sweet. “I _am_ helping.”

Liam rolls his eyes and looks to Niall for help, but Niall just shrugs as he gathers up a heap of dirty napkins and empty beer cans from the coffee table and shoves them into the bin bag he’s holding. “It is what it is, mate. Some things just don’t change.”

“Yeah, obviously,” he mutters, watching Harry try his best to tug the remaining edge of the blanket out from underneath an unmoving Louis so he can fold it and put it up with the others.

Twelve just watches the whole exchange in silence from his spot at the counter having just finished the grilled cheese Harry made him for lunch. He probably thinks they’re all mental. He wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

*

“So, we need to work on the smile,” Harry says, plopping down on the couch next to Liam while Twelve sits at the counter watching them and drinking the tea Liam just finished making him. Liam turns to look at him for a moment but Twelve just blinks at him, expressionless, so he turns back to Harry. Harry’s just come back from doing the shopping and his clothes are a bit damp from the unexpected rain, but Liam drops his head onto his shoulder anyway, sighing dramatically.

“Yeah, it _is_ a bit creepy, isn’t it?”

Harry nods, wrapping an arm around Liam’s shoulders. They’ve gone through all the basics of greetings. The hi, how are you’s and I’m well, thank you’s, the waves and handshakes and goodbyes. Now they’ve moved on to the slightly more advanced discipline of trying to add facial expressions into the lessons, starting with a smile when you say hello. It’s only the third day of this particular lesson but both Liam and Harry agree that it isn’t going too well.

“S’probably because there’s no actual feeling behind it, you know?” Harry says and now it’s Liam’s turn to nod.

“Maybe we should just hold off on the facial expressions for now, focus on other things. Like trying to get him to be a bit more independent.”

“How so?”

*

It takes a few more days of back and forth for them to settle on some ground rules. Even though it was Liam’s idea he’s still a bit worried that this might be too much change all at once for Twelve, but Harry thinks it might be good for him.

“If things go bad we can always just go back to the way things are now, go back to the old rules, so to speak,” Harry argues. “But look at it this way, if it goes well, then he’s just one step closer to being a fully-functioning, slightly more independent human being.”

Liam nods even though he knows Harry can’t see him because they’re on the phone. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Do you think I should just talk to him now or wait till you get back home?”

Harry’s on his way to a work dinner with a few of the other writers from the online magazine he writes for while Liam washes the dishes from his and Twelve’s own dinner of spaghetti and meatballs.

“Up to you,” Harry says, “but most of the group are pretty heavy drinkers and ironically also chatty drunks, so I’ll probably be out pretty late.”

“Alright, I’ll let you know what I decide. Have fun!”

“Thanks! Don’t let Twelve burn the place down while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try my best,” Liam says, laughing. “Bye, Haz.”

“Later alligator.”

He slides his phone back into his pocket, going back to doing the dishes but not even two minutes have passed from him hanging up before there’s a knock on the door. Liam wipes his soapy hands on his sweatpants and goes to answer it.

“Oh. Hi, Jerry,” he says when he opens the door. “Something wrong?”

“Just came by to let you know there’s a guy coming to fix your clogged drain tomorrow. Make sure he fills out this work order.” Jerry hands him a small slip of paper and Liam stares down at it in confusion.

“Clogged drain?” he repeats.

“Yeah, the front desk said you called it in this morning.”

“Wasn’t me. As far as I know our drain’s working fine.”

“Our?”

“ _Mine_ , I meant mine,” Liam corrects himself quickly. “ _My_ drain’s working fine.”

Jerry takes the work order slip back from him and squints at it. “Oh, wrong flat. Must have been the guy next door.”

Liam nods, hand on the doorknob as he tries to slide the door closed ever so imperceptibly, inch by painfully slowly inch. Jerry doesn’t leave right away though, instead he lingers, eyeing Liam suspiciously, and then leaning forward to peek past him into the flat. Liam tries to shift his weight discreetly to block Jerry’s view but it’s no use, his beady little eyes land right on Twelve at the counter and Liam freezes.

“Who’s that?”

“Just a friend,” Liam says hurriedly. “He’s just, um, just visiting.”

“Oh yeah? For how long?”

“Just a few days.”

“Where from?”

“Um, Bradford.”

“Funny that, I’ve got a cousin that lives in Bradford. Oi, kid, what part of Bradford you from?”

“He, um, he’s not much of a talker. Doesn’t really do well with strangers,” Liam answers before Twelve has a chance to say hello and smile his creepy smile.

“Oh yeah? What’s he got one of those disorders? Autism or something?”

“Or something,” Liam mutters under his breath.

“What?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Liam says louder, nodding vehemently. “A bit more rare though.”

“How’s he make friends, then?”

“Um, that’s a bit…personal, isn’t it?”

Jerry looks from Twelve to him and then back to Twelve before he seems to decide to back down. “Yeah, alright. Just keep him under control, yeah? I’ve heard stuff about how kids like that are prone to tantrums and things so if he does anything to damage the flat, you’re paying for it, and that’ll be your second strike.”

“But I thought I already—never mind. Understood.”

“Alright, good.” Jerry nods curtly, all business-like, and then he turns and walks back down the hall and Liam shuts the door, leaning on it heavily as he heaves a sigh of relief.

“Dodged a bullet there, huh?” he says, looking over at Twelve, who predictably doesn’t answer.

Right. Definitely saving the new rules talk for the morning. They’ve had enough commotion for one night.

*

Liam’s gotten so used to Harry getting Twelve up and ready in the mornings that he actually jumps a bit in surprise when he sits up to find Twelve staring back at him from the floor.

“Oh,” he squeaks in surprise before clearing his throat. “Um, morning.”

“Good morning,” Twelve replies, voice monotone and emotionless smile to match. They really need to tell him to forget the smile. If anything, at this point it hurts more than helps.

Liam scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing some of the sleep from his eyes before he scoots to the edge of the bed. His bedroom door is still half-open from how he left it last night and he leans forward, peering out into the living room where he can see Harry’s sleeping form stretched out on the couch under a too big blanket meant for a full-sized bed.

Guess he’s on his own with Twelve then.

He sits up a little straighter, beckoning Twelve closer and clearing his throat again before he speaks. “So, um, as you’ve probably overheard, me and Harry have been talking this over for quite a while now and we know it’s important for you to stick to a fairly consistent routine, but we think maybe it’s time we start introducing some new rules—or protocols, whatever you want to call them—into the mix so you can maybe start to learn to be a bit more independent. So basically, from now on if you have to go to the bathroom, you don’t need to ask me or Harry first. If you need to go, just go. If you have a question, you can ask it or if you just have something to say in general, whatever it is, you can say it. You don’t have to wait to be prompted. Or, if you prefer, you can just write it in your journal, if that’s easier, and when me or Harry see it we can answer it or talk to you about it. If you get hungry in between meals—if you even feel that sort of thing—you can just ask me or Harry to make you a snack. If you’re watching telly and you’re not really interested in whatever’s on you can change the channel as long as no one else is paying attention to it, although if they are, just make sure you ask as if it’s okay to change the channel first. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Any questions?”

“No.”

“Alright, well, um, I think that’s pretty much it…I’ll still help you shower and shave and all that for now, but once you start getting the hang of everything else I think it’ll probably be time for you start doing that on your own too. Okay? All clear?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. To the bathroom we go.”

Once he and Twelve have washed up Twelve sits at his usual spot at the counter in the middle seat while Liam busies himself making breakfast, eggs and halal turkey bacon with waffles on the side. Twelve still doesn’t eat much, which Liam finds interesting considering everything they did to him in the bunker has probably left him with a ridiculously high metabolism. But it’s fine because he’ll just leave the leftovers for Harry. If he even wants them, that is, with the raging hangover he’s sure to have when he wakes up. Liam’s just thankful he doesn’t have to worry about Twelve having trouble keeping down his food anymore because the two of them fighting for the toilet would _not_ be pretty, especially not for Harry.

As if he somehow knows that Liam is thinking about him, Harry chooses that precise moment to grumble awake, throwing the covers back and getting to his feet slowly. He blinks groggily at Liam and Twelve, rubbing his head gingerly as he makes his way over to the bathroom. Liam hears the sound of the water running as Harry brushes his teeth and then the sound of splashing that probably means he’s splashing water on his face before he comes back out. He doesn’t appear all that much better than he did when he went in, still looking half-dead on his feet but he shuffles his way over to the counter and takes a seat beside Twelve.

“Breakfast?” Liam says, offering him the plate full of his and Twelve’s untouched leftovers but Harry shakes his head, then grabs it between his hands, massaging his fingers into his temples and groaning miserably.

Liam starts to put the plate back down beside him on the other side of the counter but Harry says, “Wait,” and holds out a hand toward it, taking a single piece of bacon. “Tea?” he asks after he’s taken a bite.

“Coming right up,” Liam says tapping out a beat on the counter as he turns the kettle on. He’s already got mugs and everything else sat out for them next to the stove so when the kettle’s done he sets right to making their tea, handing Harry his first and then Twelve.

“Wild night last night, then?” Liam says as they sip their tea.

“Not even. Was actually pretty tame, considering. The only reason I’m like this now is cause I got myself roped into a bet. Speaking of which, remind me to never partake in bets ever again with anyone for the rest of my life.”

“Promise,” Liam says, smiling over his cup.

“What about you guys? How’d things go here on the home front?”

Liam grimaces. “Not great. Jerry came by and spotted Twelve, started asking all sorts of questions.”

“What?” Harry says, slamming his cup down a bit too hard and then wincing at the loud noise. “Why? Did one of your neighbors tell on us or something?”

“No, nothing like that. It was some sort of mix-up. He thought I’d called about a clogged drain or something, but it turned out it was the guy next door and he’d just mixed up the flat numbers. I tried to tell him the drain here was fine but me being an idiot I accidentally said _our_ drain instead of _my_ drain and he started getting suspicious. That’s when he poked his head in the door and saw Twelve and started asking all these questions.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I lied and told him Twelve was just a friend visiting from Bradford but apparently he’s got a cousin from there so he started trying to ask Twelve what part he was from and I was just trying to get him out the door and get him to leave us alone at that point, so I just lied again and said he didn’t talk to strangers because he had a developmental disorder.”

Harry laughs out loud at that, turning to Twelve. “I guess in a way there is some truth to it, just not in the way he probably thinks.”

“Yeah, but he was really rude about it though. Said I should keep him under control so he doesn’t throw any tantrums and destroy the flat cause he’s heard kids with developmental disorders have a tendency to do that or whatever.”

“Arsehole,” Harry says, making a face.

“Exactly. On the plus side, apparently I’m back to being on my first strike. Still have no idea what that was even originally for though.”

Harry shrugs. “Maybe it was because he just didn’t like your face.”

Liam snorts with laughter at that, nearly spilling his tea and Harry laughs right along with him because he’s a goof who likes to laugh at his own jokes, especially when they’re actually funny. Their snickering abruptly comes to a stop though when another rumble of laughter joins their own.

It’s the most unnerving sound Liam’s ever heard in his life. It doesn’t even feel right to refer to it as laughter because while it sounds close there’s no feeling in it, no life behind it, and it makes Liam feel eerily like he’s just walked onto the set of a horror film.

Harry turns from Twelve back to Liam with a stricken expression on his face like _what the actual fuck_. Liam sets his cup down, running a hand through his hair anxiously because as disturbing as what just happened might be he thinks he understands the reasoning behind it.

“So, um, I sort of…had that talk that we’d been planning to have with Twelve this morning, before you woke up, and I basically told him that he’s free to do whatever he feels like. You know, whatever comes to mind, and so I guess trying to…laugh,” Liam forces out because it still feels weird to call it that, “was his first act of freedom, so to speak.”

“Oh,” Harry says, eyes wide. “Okay, that’s—congratulations, Twelve!” He raises his cup in salute and tries to smile but he still looks a little uncomfortable even as he does so.

“Yeah, congrats!” Liam says, trying to put a little pep in his voice as he joins in raising his cup to Twelve, but he feels about as uncomfortable as Harry looks.

Twelve mimics the gesture, looking a little bit lost, but he follows their movements all the same, bumping his mug against theirs and taking a sip when they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: SpaceMonsters 3000 is a completely ridiculous, completely made-up film created for the sole purpose of some extra comic relief in this fic (think Jupiter Ascending but even more wild and ridiculous and gay, which by the way if you haven’t watched that movie you need to because it is AH-mazing, seriously. it’s the best terrible thing you will ever watch)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four chapters in less than a week, I am just on a roll lol!  
> Anyway enjoy! :P

_Zayn_

Twelve wakes in a sweat, methodically pushing the covers down to his feet and sitting up. Liam is still fast asleep above him, breathing softly into his pillow, and Twelve studies him for a moment before picking up the journal and pen from beside his own pillow and beginning to write.

_Liam has instructed me to write about my dreams when I wake in the mornings as well as on nights when I cannot sleep. He says it may help me sleep better but I do not understand how this will work. Nevertheless he has given me an order so I must obey. It is 4:02 and I have just awoken from another dream of one of the male visitors that used to come to visit me in the bunker, whose name I have since learned is Martin Ellis. In recent weeks I have been dreaming of him more frequently, perhaps because he has been featured in the news on the television often. In the dream he recited my specialized code words, and I lay on the bed in the position he requested. But my mind did not go where it usually does. The peaceful sensation never came and I was aware of everything he did. There was pain, not like in the Discipline Rooms or during the Procedure, but it was still strange to be so aware of it then when it had previously been so muted on all other occasions with visitors. I made sure to keep my reactions as similar to previous encounters as possible so that he would not notice the change and be satisfied. But shortly before he reached completion he began to morph and change shape. His form took on that of the Director and I was sent to the Discipline Rooms for being disobedient and failing to please a visitor. Perhaps the word dream is not the correct terminology for such an occurrence as the majority of it was true to memory but for the end. However, it also seems improper to refer to it as a memory when a portion of it is not accurate. It is now 4:08 and I do not see the purpose in resuming sleep for one more hour so I will remain awake until Liam or Harry wake as well._

He lays his notebook back down it its place and sits still, watching Liam for a few moments longer before he stands. He pulls the pile of blankets neatly back up to rest just in front of the pillow, just as he always did in the bunker, and then walks out into the living room, stopping in front of the couch. He peers down at Harry, watching curiously as his brow furrows in his sleep, eyelashes twitching.

Harry startles awake only a moment later, eyes flying open.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he yelps, scrambling into a sitting position and staring up at Twelve with wide eyes, “What—what are you _doing_?”

“Watching you sleep.”

“What? _Why_?” Harry says, staring up at him in bemusement.

Before he can answer Twelve hears the bedroom door creak and turns to see Liam shuffling through the doorway, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

“The hell is going on out here, Haz?” he mumbles, squinting as his eyes land on Twelve. “Twelve? I thought you were still asleep. What are you even doing out here?”

“He was _watching_ me sleep,” Harry says, indignant.

“ _What_? Why?” Liam says, echoing Harry’s previous exclamations as he steps closer, keeping his eyes on Twelve warily as if he is afraid Twelve will hurt Harry.

“Hell if I know,” Harry says, throwing up his hands exasperatedly at the same time that Twelve says, “To see if he looked like you do when you are sleeping.”

Both Harry and Liam raise their eyebrows at this and Twelve wonders if he has spoken out of turn. He had been under the impression that the question was intended for him as Liam had been maintaining steady eye contact with him as he asked it, but now he is no longer sure. He knows that he is allowed to speak unprompted now but he does not know if this includes responding to questions and statements that were not directed at him. After a few moments of silence pass in which Harry and Liam seem to communicate some hidden message through a series of elaborate hand gestures and complex facial expressions that Twelve still has trouble comprehending, Liam finally clears his throat loudly.

“Um, right, then,” Liam says turning to face him. “Twelve, no more staring at Harry while he’s sleeping, please. As for the rest of it…well, I think it’s best if we just all go back to bed for now, yeah? It’s late. We can talk about all this in the morning…or I guess, _later_ in the morning.”

He turns and heads back into his bedroom and Twelve follows, Harry sighing and rustling with the blankets behind him as he settles back down on the couch to sleep.

Twelve sits back down on top of his pile of blankets and watches as Liam makes his way back to bed, pausing as he sits on the edge to look down at Twelve. He bites at his bottom lip appearing deep in thought, an expression that Twelve has come to learn means he is contemplating saying something but is anxious or unsure as to whether he should voice it or how it will be received.

“Why don’t you, um…why don’t you sleep up here tonight?” he says. He looks away as he speaks, avoiding Twelve’s gaze and biting his lip again, but Twelve stands, walking around to the other side of the bed and climbing atop it. Liam pulls the edge of the blanket back and gestures for him to move underneath it and he follows, mirroring Liam’s movements as he settles back against the pillows. The bed is even softer than the pile of blankets he has become accustomed to sleeping on, monumentally softer than his mattress in the bunker, and Twelve knows even as he lays down that he will not be able to sleep. But he closes his eyes and attempts to anyway because it is what Liam asked him to do.

*

As expected, he does not sleep and when he hears the slight change in Liam’s breathing suggesting he is awake, he sits up and waits. Liam stirs a moment later, pushing the covers back and rubbing at his face.

“Morning,” he mumbles after a yawn.

“Good morning,” Twelve says, smiling.

Liam grimaces slightly and Twelve returns his expression to a neutral one. He is aware that his attempts to mimic this particular expression make Harry and Liam uncomfortable. But just as with any other sort of training he has undergone he also knows that he must continue to practice the skill in order to master it.

Once in the kitchen Twelve sits in his usual place at the counter. Harry is already at the stove making tea, having awoken shortly before Liam did.

“Hey,” he says, addressing them both, before turning to Liam. “We must have both woken up at the same time because I was just about to come get him when I saw you guys were already up.”

“Mmm, guess so,” Liam says.

“Hello,” Twelve replies, smiling again, in response to Harry’s initial greeting. Harry nods at him in recognition but he still looks slightly uncomfortable.

“Are we almost out of milk?” Liam says, turning from the open fridge back to Harry.

“Oh, yeah, I was gonna run out to the shops later and pick up some more.”

Liam sighs dejectedly and Harry turns to look at him again, eyes landing on the almost empty carton in Liam’s hand, which he jiggles for emphasis. “Really wanted some cereal but I don’t even think there’s enough for one bowl.”

“Sorry, mate,” Harry says sadly. “Guess it’ll just have to wait till tomorrow. We’ve still got plenty of frozen waffles though if it makes you feel any better.”

“A little,” Liam says, smiling. He reaches into the freezer for the box of waffles but pauses with his hand still wrapped around the box and says, “ _Shit_.”

“What?” Harry says, whipping around with a slightly panicked expression on his face.

“Sorry, it’s just…I just realized I still have these frozen chicken cutlets in here that I bought ages ago and completely forgot about. Think they’re still good?”

Harry shrugs. “If they smell okay and they look okay then they’re probably fine. Might be better to just go ahead and make them sooner rather than later though.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Could make them for dinner, maybe? Spicy chicken, or something like that?” he says, glancing furtively over at Twelve.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Harry nods.

“Alright, I’ll set a sticky note out for lunch to remind us to take it out to thaw.”

“Cool,” Harry says, turning back to their tea. He pours sugar in Twelve and Liam’s cups and then follows it up with milk in all three, keeping his back to Liam, who’s still fumbling with the toaster, as he says, “So, um, that a new thing you’re trying? Letting Twelve sleep with you?”

Liam drops the box of waffles to the floor, shoulders stiffening. Twelve sees his jaw move even though Liam’s back is to him but the only the sound in the room is Harry stirring their tea. Twelve looks from Liam to Harry, trying to understand, but Harry’s gaze is still angled down at the mugs before him.

Liam jumps at the sudden sound of the spring in the toaster pushing the waffles back up, and he bends down to pick up the box from the floor. It landed on its side, top open, but only one waffle managed to fall out and he picks it up and goes to toss it in the bin before coming back to settle against the counter, hands braced around the edge of it behind him.

“It’s not like that,” he says. “I just…felt weird having him still sleep on the floor beside me when there’s all that space in the bed. He’s a person, not a dog. He should sleep in a real bed, and it’s not like I haven’t got room to spare. I wasn’t trying to make a move on him or anything.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you were,” Harry says as he turns to face him. “I’m just…not sure it’s the best idea. I mean, what if you accidentally kick him in your sleep or something and he immediately goes into attack mode cause he’s half-asleep and not fully aware of where he is or what’s going on? It’s not uncommon with PTSD.”

“So, what, I should send him back to the floor to sleep like an animal? Isn’t that the exact opposite of what we’re trying to do here?”

“No—I—” Harry stops, sighing and running a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s not what I’m saying, okay? I just…I just meant that you should maybe think this through instead of just jumping right in headfirst. Maybe come up with, like, some sort of contingency plan or something in case something happens.”

Liam crosses his arms. “Contingency plan? Like what, exactly?”

“I don’t know, maybe find something that’ll ground him, think of something to say or do that’ll remind he’s in the here and now and not in any immediate danger. Like some sort of mantra or special phrase or something.”

“How about just ‘it’s Liam, you’re safe’?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, maybe. And if that doesn’t work you could yell, like, Code Red or something so at least _I_ know what’s happening and I can try and help.”

“Yeah, alright. Are you satisfied now? Now that we have this whole ‘contingency plan’ or whatever in place?”

“ _Yes_. Yes, I am, thank you. Honestly, Liam, your penchant for putting yourself in harm’s way to help others is downright unnerving sometimes. Admirable, but unnerving all the same.”

“I’ll just take that as a compliment,” Liam says smiling and uncrossing his arms as he turns back around to the toaster. “Damn it, now these waffles are probably cold.”

He pushes them back down before closing up the box and placing it in back the freezer. Then he occupies himself getting out plates and utensils while he waits for the waffles come back up. When they’re done he puts each one on a plate, spreading butter and syrup over them and then places one of the plates in front of Twelve, shaking up a can of whipped cream as he does so. He rips the top off, spraying two dots on the top of the waffle and a curved line below and saying, “It’s crispier than I would’ve liked, but oh, well.”

“A smiley face waffle? Really?” Harry says, one eyebrow raised as he passes Liam his tea and sets Twelve’s down next to his plate.

Liam shrugs and smiles. “Why not? He missed half his life as a kid, I’m making up for lost time.”

“I highly doubt a smiley face waffle is gonna be the thing that brings back all his long-lost childhood memories, but whatever.”

“Hey, you never know. Don’t knock it, till you try it!” Liam grins.

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Liam,” Harry says, rolling his eyes as he sips at his own tea.

*

Twelve is back in his usual spot for dinner after having spent much of the day on the living room floor watching something called Youtube with Harry and listening to Liam and Harry argue over a politician who was featured in a story on the news. Twelve recognizes the woman although she was not one of his own visitors. She passed by him on a number of occasions on her way to visit Twenty-two while Twelve waited for one of his own visitors to be cleared through security in the wing of the bunker reserved only for meetings with visitors. She’d stopped to inspect him appreciatively once as his Handler at the time led him down the hall to his visiting room. Handlers were supposed to stay and wait with the operatives under their charge until their visitor arrived. But this one, much like Handler A, had been rather negligent and indolent and usually left Twelve waiting by the door alone while he wandered off to do other things like talk on his cell phone or chat with the female security guards at the checkpoint area.

On this particular occasion he’d left Twelve alone again while the woman stood across the hall, waiting by Twenty-two’s door. It was a rather strange occurrence because operatives were supposed to be brought to their rooms before their visitors arrived so as not to keep them waiting. But she’d sauntered over to him, smile accentuated by her bright red lipstick, as she came to stand right in front of him.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?” she said, running a red-painted fingernail down the side of his face and over his jaw. “I’m supposed to be waiting on _my_ boy, but I’m a little early and you’re a lovely distraction from the wait. Brown’s not usually my type, but for you I’d consider making an exception.”

“Miss Faraday?” Another woman’s voice called from the other side of the hall, the red-lipped woman blocking his view of her until she stepped aside and turned around. “He’s ready for you.”

It was Twenty-two’s Handler and she stood in front of his door with a hand curled over his shoulder as she gestured to him. The red-lipped woman turned away from Twelve then, flashing him one last smile over her shoulder before she sauntered back to the other side of the hallway and led Twenty-two into his room with a hand around his waist. She nodded at his Handler, thanking her before closing the door behind them. Twelve had watched the Handler walk off, checking her watch as she turned the corner, and then he was alone again.

He flinches as a plate is suddenly set down in front him, unsettled by the fact that he was so distracted by a mere memory he momentarily lost awareness of his surroundings.

“One plate of spicy chicken with rice, for our most esteemed patron,” Liam says, bowing from the other side of the counter.

Harry laughs, whipping him on the rear with the hand towel that was previously lying draped over his own shoulder.

“Ow, hey!” Liam yells, trying to grab the towel from him.

The chicken is pre-cut into small cubed slices, utensils along with a glass of apple juice already in front of him, another unsettling occurrence that he did not notice happening. He takes a bite and is startled at the familiarity of it. He has had chicken before, on numerous occasions in fact since he first came to stay here, so it is no surprise that the texture is familiar to him. But he does not recall ever having it flavored in this way, and yet something about the taste is still strangely familiar to him.

Liam and Harry have stopped “play-fighting,” as Harry has explained this sort of activity is called, and Liam leans on the counter, peering over at him. “Twelve? You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? You look a bit…”

“Shell-shocked,” Harry finishes for him.

Twelve is not familiar with the term and so does not understand what it means, though he surmises it must have something to do with either being surprised or being shocked with electricity.

“I am fine,” he answers.

“Is the chicken okay?” Liam asks him, brow furrowed.

“It didn’t taste bad when I tasted a piece earlier,” Harry says before he can answer.

“Stole, you mean.”

Harry shrugs. “Potayto, potahto.”

“A thief by any other name is still a thief,” Liam counters, eyes narrowed.

Twelve does not understand either of these expressions but he is not sure if it is appropriate to interrupt their conversation to ask so he supposes he will simply make a note of them in his journal and wait for Harry or Liam to explain them at another time.

Liam turns back to him saying, “Sorry if it tastes funny. I tried to get the seasonings right as best I could but it _has_ been over ten years since I last helped make it. I know you don’t remember, but it used to be your favorite. Your mum would always have us help season it although she’d make sure to measure everything out for us first so we wouldn’t put too much. I may have gotten a few of the measurements mixed up, but I tried my best. It doesn’t taste _too_ terrible though, does it?”

“It is not bad. It is familiar,” he replies.

Liam stares at him for a long time, so long that Twelve is unsure of whether or not Liam heard him and he cocks his head at Liam in confusion.

“Have I said something wrong?”

“N-no. _No_ ,” Liam stutters, blinking rapidly. “I, um—familiar? As in, like, you… _remember_ it?”

Twelve is unsure of how to answer this. He does not remember making it or consuming it as Liam described, but the fact that it is familiar to him must mean that he remembers something of it even if it is not a concrete memory.

“It is familiar,” he repeats.

Liam’s brow furrows and Harry turns to him. “I think what he means is he remembers the taste of it but he doesn’t remember actually _having_ it,” he says. “Kind of like when you see or hear something familiar but you can’t remember _where_ you saw or heard it, you just know that you have.”

Liam nods in understanding but he has an expression on his face that Twelve knows means he is disappointed and attempting to disguise it as satisfaction.

“I am sorry,” Twelve says because Harry has explained to him that people like to be apologized to when they feel saddened or disappointed by something another person has said or done.

“It’s alright,” Liam says, tapping his hands on the counter in what Twelve has learned is called a nervous habit. “I know it’ll probably be a while before we get there…if we _ever_ get there. It just…would’ve been nice, I guess, if you _had_ remembered.”

"Is that my mission?”

"What?" Liam says, brows furrowed once more.

"To remember. Is that my mission?”

“No,” Liam says, emphatic, though his tone remains soft and even. “No, there—there _is_ no mission. Not anymore.”

Twelve looks down at his plate in confusion. Liam speaks as if this is meant to be some sort of comfort but it is not. Twelve is an operative. He _must_ have a mission otherwise he serves no purpose. He does not know any other way to exist. He had previously been operating under the assumption that the weekly lessons were meant to serve as a series of small missions, tasks to master in preparation for a larger mission, such as blending in with civilians for some sort of greater gain. How is he to function now as an operative without a mission? Surely there must be more to Liam’s affirmation?

He senses Liam’s gaze on him and looks up to find Liam watching him with that strange expression on his face, the one that Twelve still cannot identify even after all this time—sadness mixed with something else. Though he sees it much less often now than he did when he first arrived.

“Other than that one,” Liam amends softly after a few more moments have passed. He looks at Twelve with glassy eyes, clearing his throat so that his voice comes out a little louder, a little less uncertain when he continues, “What I meant was, there’s no mission other than that one. That’s the only mission that you have to worry about now.”

Twelve turns back to his plate, at ease now, and continues eating. Liam and Harry occupy themselves making their own plates, Liam’s gaze lingering on him for a few more moments before he settles down in the seat at the edge of the counter with his own food.

*

It is Friday and as per usual Liam and Harry’s friends have come to visit—Liam has explained to him that the word associate is typically only used in civilian terminology to describe those one is involved in business or financial affairs with. It is more appropriate to call them friends or mates, though Twelve finds he gravitates more toward the use of friends, as the word mate reminds him of a very particular memory he recalls all too vividly.

The Director had called them all into the training room to demonstrate what would happen were they ever to attempt to mate with each other by using two operatives who apparently had as examples. He had the Doctor bring the two operatives in on operating tables and instructed the others to watch while the male was castrated and the female underwent a procedure he explained was called female circumcision.

The procedures did not last long but their screams had echoed in Twelve’s mind long after they were all sent back to their bunks. One operative was driven so mad by the display that he burst into an uncontrollable rage. He stood in place in the middle of the training room screaming at the top of his lungs along with the other two operatives on the tables, then attempted to attack the Handlers that tried to restrain him. Eventually he was subdued and dragged to the Discipline Rooms, but Twelve does not know what became of him after that as that was the last time he ever saw him. The female was deemed unfit for visitors and from that point on both operatives were assigned two Handlers each to monitor them day and night. Twelve still does not understand what reasoning spurred the two to attempt to mate in the first place, but he supposes it is simply another one of those questions that will always remain a mystery to him.

He turns his attention back to Louis who is telling a story about his trip to pick up Niall while on his way here.

“…And while I was waiting for Niall to come down I got out of the car to get some chips from that food truck that’s always on the corner and this man comes out of nowhere, like, just _materializes_ out of the shadows with this long trench coat and right away I’m thinking he’s gonna flash me or summat, right? But he opens his coat and it’s, like, 90’s central in there. He’s got cassette tapes and Pokémon cards, Spice Girls merch, Beanie Babies, Game Boy games, Tamagotchis, like, _honest-to-God_ Tamagotchis, and so I step closer to see what all he has and start pulling out my wallet to get one of the Tamagotchis but then the police come round the other corner and spot us—”

“Oh, God,” Liam says, face in his hands.

“So of course they immediately think he’s flashing me cause they’re coming from the other direction so all they can see is him standing there with his coat open and me with my hand in my trousers and they start chasing us down the street while I’m yelling ‘I just wanted a Tamagotchi!’ And then the guy starts launching Beanie Babies at them to try and slow them down and his coat flies open and that’s when they see that he’s got on actual clothes and a coat full of stuffed animals and old games and they finally stop chasing us, telling him to get a vender’s license and get out of here. Then Niall comes running down the street yelling and freaking out, thinking I did something illegal—”

“Technically you still almost _did_ , trying to buy stuff from some random creep on the street.”

“Shut it, I’m telling a story here. Anyway the guy offered to buy us both chips from the food cart if we promised to spread the word about his 90’s toys street enterprise, so…job done.” Louis attempts to bow despite the fact that he is sitting down and comes extremely close to hitting Harry in the face as he does so.

Harry shoves him in the shoulder but Louis grabs onto his hand and pulls him close for a hug, saying, “You know you love me, Haz.”

Harry rolls his eyes and grumbles unintelligibly but he does not try to get out of Louis’ embrace and after a few moments Louis lets him go, tugging on a lock of Harry’s hair as he sits up. Harry simply huffs, pushing his hair back from his forehead but Twelve can see that Harry is trying to refrain from smiling as he whips his head in the other direction to where Niall is currently getting up.

“Last one of the first pack. Who wants it?” Niall says once he reaches the kitchen counter, holding up a can of beer.

“Me!” Liam and Louis both yell at the same time, hands rising in the air.

“You’re my favorite, Niall, you should give it to me and I’ll love you forever!” Louis says.

“Excuse you, I’m _Niall’s_ favorite which is the more important distinction here, and also I’m not the one who always manages to bum free drinks off him so if anything I’m the more deserving one here.”

“Well, you can’t both have it.” Niall shrugs. “Guess you’ll just have to fight to the death for it while I get out the other pack.”

Louis turns to Liam, chest puffed out, and pretends to rip his own shirt off, yelling, “Come at me!” and swinging his head as if to shake out his hair even though it is not nearly as long as the man in the film’s and does not move very much. For once, it is a reference that Twelve actually understands and he watches on as everyone laughs before joining in himself.

The room abruptly goes quiet as everyone turns to look at him.

“Yeah, so, um, it’s kind of a thing,” Liam says, breaking the silence as he rubs at the back of his neck, another nervous habit. “Just…just try to, um, go with it? For now?”

Louis looks from Liam to Harry, eyes wide in what appears to be disbelief or shock or some combination of the two but Harry simply shrugs. “We think it’s sort of like…his way of asserting his freedom? Like, his first act of unprompted, independent thought. It was the first thing he did on his own after Liam explained to him that he could basically do whatever he wanted now and he’s been doing it off and on for the past few weeks but this is the first time he’s done it around you guys, so it’s a bit like a milestone in a way.”

Twelve listens attentively to Harry as he speaks, intrigued by his interpretation. He does not fully understand himself why he does it, which is a rather peculiar circumstance for him. But following recent experience, peculiarity seems to be rapidly becoming the new standard convention for him. Initially he had believed that mimicking their behavior, civilian behavior, might help him understand it better. But now he thinks perhaps it has morphed into something else; something more abstract, something he does not fully understand. The physical sensation of laughter feels oddly familiar and the strangest sense comes over him when he does it, as if something is about to happen, as if something is starting to come lose within him but he cannot pinpoint what, or why.

“And I thought the smile was creepy,” Louis says, eyeing him a little furtively before shrugging. “But at least he has a quality sense of humor on him and actually knows what's funny and what’s not, unlike _some_ people with their terrible jokes.”

Louis shoots a glance at Harry and Harry kicks him in the shin just as Niall says, “Translation: Twelve thinks I’m funny so I’m obviously hot shit. Which by the way, you’re not.”

“This is why you’re my least favorite, Niall.”

“Five minutes ago you were saying the exact opposite.”

“Your _mum_ was saying the exact opposite.”

“Your _face_ was saying the exact opposite.”

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Liam says. “I will kick the both of you out if you don’t shut up already. _Christ_. Why am I even friends with you lot?”

“Because we’re hot shit, obviously,” Louis says indignantly.

“Don’t even start again,” Liam counters.

“Would you prefer it if I was quite finished, then?”

Liam drops his face into his hands but Twelve can still hear the muffled laughter he is attempting to suppress and he stares, wondering why both Liam and Harry as well as Niall seem so inclined to this particular action, especially when in close proximity to Louis. He does not see the purpose in attempting to hide an emotion that most would regard as a positive and fairly appropriate one in this instance and others like it. But he supposes it is simply another question for him to pose in his journal to be answered at another time.

*

Twelve is watching television with Liam while Harry cooks dinner when he begins to lose interest in the advertisement that is currently playing. It has repeated remarkably often in the short time span that they have been watching this particular channel and he no longer finds it as fascinating as he once did. Liam is tapping at his phone, seemingly not paying attention to the television, so Twelve presses one of the two buttons on the remote that Liam has shown him will allow him to switch to the next channel in the frequency. The scene on the screen immediately changes from a close-up view of a grey carpet to one of people dressed in bright, vibrant-colored clothing dancing across a large atrium-like space.

Liam chuckles and when Twelve turns to him in curiosity he says, “Sorry, it’s just…you used to love these films, you know. Bollywood films. Used to sit and watch them with the English subtitles on just for me even though half the time you ended up translating ninety percent of it anyway cause the subtitles were so bad. Doesn’t look like this one has any subtitles though. It’s too bad too cause it actually looks kind of interesting…I wish I knew what they were saying so we could maybe watch it together for old time’s sake.”

“You are the only one, you are my life. My love is only for you, I live only for you,” Twelve translates.

“What?” Liam says, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

“You are the only one, you are my life. My love is only for you, I live only for you,” he repeats, approximating a translation of what the man on screen is currently singing.

“You—you can _understand_ that?” Liam says, sitting up sharply. “You remember how to speak Urdu?”

“Yes,” he says in answer to Liam’s first question, contemplating his choice of words in the second. It is a strange way to put it, remembering the language, as if it is something he learned _before_ , before the bunker. But it forces him to think about something that he had previously never given much thought. Reflecting on it now he realizes that, in fact, it was not something he was taught in the bunker, not like French or Italian or Mandarin or any of the other languages he was made to learn. Much like speaking or writing in English, it is simply something he has always known how to do despite not being able to recall when or where he learned it.

It is odd he realizes now, that he never questioned why that was before, never questioned how he could know things without having learned them in the bunker. Or that he never questioned how it was that his first memory could be of him already on the verge of adolescence when surely he must have been a child, an infant even, at some point when he first learned these things. For so long he had lived under the delusion that if he had no memory of it, it did not exist. Having no memory of a childhood or an infancy or a life before the bunker, he had assumed, had accepted it as fact even, that he had never had one, that he had been created and awoken expressly for no other purpose than to serve. But now he knows that is not true. Now he knows that he came from something, from someone, that he had a family and friends just like any other civilian. Now he knows that he did not always exist solely as an operative and that is a dangerous thought to have because it opens up a whole cavern of questions that he does not know how to process.

He thinks back to Liam’s question instead and wonders if it is possible, as Harry seemed to imply some time ago, to remember things you do not realize you are remembering. He wonders if it can still be called remembering in such a case or if it is something else altogether. Perhaps it would be appropriate to ask since there is no other conversation for him to interrupt in this instance.

“How is remembering defined in this circumstance?”

“What do you mean?” Liam asks, eyebrows wrinkling in confusion.

“You asked if I remember how to speak Urdu. I do not remember learning it, but I know it. Is this the same as remembering it?”

Liam hesitates a while before answering. “In a way, maybe?” he says, appearing uncertain as he turns to Harry. “A little help here, Haz?”

Harry lowers the pot cover he is currently holding back down to the pot on the stove and shrugs. “Out of my depth, mate.”

Liam turns back to him, sighing and biting his lip. “I’ve, um, never really been good with the theoretical, but I guess in a way it could be considered remembering. _Some_ part of your brain at least must remember it even though you can’t recall the actual memory of learning it, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to understand it…though I guess the same could also be said for any of the other basic things you seem to know how to do without having been re-taught, like walking or writing or speaking English. Sorry, I know this explanation probably isn’t all that helpful. But it’s sort of hard to answer without really understanding _how_ they were actually able to take your memories away.”

Twelve supposes this is as satisfactory an answer as he will receive for the time being and he turns back to the television where the woman is singing now, elaborate hand movements capturing his attention once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to point out something I was reminded of while writing the waffle scene. Although this fic may at times bear some strong resemblances to Stranger Things, any and all similarities are purely coincidental. I started writing this months before the show even came out (and thereby had already brainstormed a good 75% of it with the exception of some of the more minor details and plot lines), so it was actually quite an interesting experience when the show came out cause I spent the entire time binge-watching it just like ???were these people in my head??? what is my life??? Anyway, just wanted to make that clear, hope you guys enjoyed and please keep the comments and kudos coming!
> 
> Also, apologies if the English lyrics don’t translate correctly back into Urdu. I did try to base the lyrics on an actual song from a Bollywood movie but changed them quite a bit (for copyright reasons) so if anyone reading this speaks Hindi or Urdu and feels like a slightly different wording would make more sense please feel free to let me know in the comments section or even via [tumblr](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/).


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry guys…I’m really trying here but I have such shitty time management skills (it’s a wonder I ever made it through college/university). But…here’s another double update to make up for the wait!
> 
> Also Eid Mubarak! :D Here's hoping you'll accept these chapters as a belated Eid gift <3 (I know it's a day late-two days even for those celebrating overseas-I meant to post this yesterday but time got just away from me, but it's the thought that counts right lol?)
> 
> And for my non-Muslim readers, Happy Monday! Hopefully this will brighten up your day a little...as always, enjoy! :)
> 
> [Reminder: M.O.D. = Ministry of Defence]

_Liam_

It’s been weeks and Louis still won’t stop obsessing over the film. He texts Liam screenshots of random scenes practically every five minutes and it’s honestly ridiculous. Liam’s in the middle of scrolling through yet another barrage of screenshots from Louis, interspersed with emoji-filled captions and way too many exclamation points, when Harry comes bumbling through the door, one arm full of shopping bags and his phone in the other.

“Have you _seen_ this?” he says the moment he’s in the door, eyes wide as he holds out his phone to Liam.

Liam lays his own phone down on the counter giving the soup he’s cooking one more cursory stir before he leans forward to take Harry’s phone. On the screen is a Twitter post from BBC News that reads _Update in Ellis v. Asaad case: Trial has been expedited due to high profile nature of case. Ellis found not guilty_ , followed by a link for the full story.

“ _What_?” Liam says in disbelief, whipping his head up at Harry. “How the hell is he _not_ guilty? They had him _on tape_ for Christ’s sake!”

“Probably paid some fuckers off,” Harry says, slamming the bags down on the counter roughly. Liam doesn’t blame him but he hopes there’s nothing too fragile in there.

“Fucking MOD,” he spits, shaking his head and shoving Harry’s phone back at him. “I swear people think just because they work for the government they can get away with anything. Just pay the right person off and you can make all your problems go away like it’s no big deal. Must be nice, living without a care in the world or even an ounce of human decency.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Harry huffs as he empties the bags, taking things out and slapping them down on the counter and then moving on to slamming cupboards and drawers as he puts them away. Liam goes back to his soup, stirring a little harder than is strictly necessary. Twelve is looking over the back of the couch at them curiously but Liam doesn’t really feel like explaining right now so he just glares down at the pot of soup and takes his frustration out on it, Louis’ pictures along with his previously jovial mood forgotten.

*

The lads are over for a film night a few days later, featuring SpaceMonsters 3000 as the obvious first feature followed by a few choice other bad-good films that Harry suggested. Louis has apparently changed his mind about trusting Harry’s taste in films and is tucked into the couch between him and Twelve with a huge bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap. All three of them are currently enraptured in the scene where the main character’s best friend confesses his love for him, his orange antennae dancing wildly out of nervousness.

“It’s just so _tragic_ ,” Louis says dramatically, like he hasn’t watched the scene a hundred times already.

“At least he finds love in the end though,” Harry counters.

Liam is on his way back to the recliner with another huge bowl of popcorn for himself and Niall to share when Niall gets up from the floor to stop him, herding him back into the kitchen.

“So, um, listen, I have something I wanted to talk to you about,” he says, voice almost a whisper as he glances nervously back at the others and waves a hand in their general direction. “It’s about _this_ whole thing and—and Sarah.”

Liam nods, following his line of sight. Even though the others probably can’t, Liam knows that Twelve can still hear them after having read entirely too many journal entries where he mentioned hearing things he shouldn’t physically be able to, at least not without the aid of superhearing. Like the couple having sex “approximately two to three floors above this one” at three in the morning. Or the man driving by four freaking _stories_ below loudly cat-calling, or “attempting to solicit” a woman one morning as she walked down the street. He knows whispering is no use because Twelve will be able to hear them either way and he tells Niall as much. The telly’s pretty loud though so Liam’s not really all that worried about anyone else overhearing them but Niall still keeps his voice slightly lower than usual when he speaks just in case.

“So, um…things with me and Sarah are starting to get kind of…serious, and I haven’t told her about any of this, mostly cause I felt like it wasn’t really my secret to tell and also because I didn’t want to freak her out, but—well, now she’s starting to feel like I’m, you know, _keeping_ things from her, hiding stuff, and I just…I wanted to know if maybe I could have your permission to…tell her?”

Liam runs a hand through his hair, looking around at the others piled on the couch again. “I…um…”

“She could help,” Niall adds quickly. “She studied psych in uni and she works with PTSD victims as part of her work-study for her master’s degree.”

“Oh.” Liam says, brow furrowed. “Wait, _really_?”

“Yeah…” Niall says, looking at him a little strangely. “What?”

Liam shakes his quickly. “Nothing, it’s just…I don’t know, she just doesn’t really seem like the type for that to be her thing, you know? She’s so…free-spirited and everything, I guess I just assumed she was more of, like, an artsy type.”

Niall raises an eyebrow, says, “Book, cover.”

“Yeah, I know, alright?” Liam says, smiling. “I’m a horrible person, sorry.”

“I’ll make sure to pass on your apology. But anyway, _so_ …? Can I tell her?”

“I mean, I’ll have to double check with Twelve first of course, but yeah, I think it’ll probably be fine."

Niall beams. “Great, thanks! And I know he’s probably just gonna say yes anyway, but let me know when you do just in case.”

“Sure thing.”

Still beaming, Niall grabs the bowl of popcorn from the counter and runs back to the living room with it stuffing handfuls into his mouth as he goes.

“Love ya, Liam!” he yells, mouth full, as he plops himself into the recliner where Liam was sitting and Liam rolls his eyes and smiles to himself as he follows behind.

Later, after they’ve mostly cleaned up, Niall and Harry still picking up the odd bit of rubbish and stray popcorn pieces lying around, Liam goes to wash the popcorn bowls out only to be interrupted by a loud yelp. All four of them, including Twelve, turn to look at Louis, but he just waves a hand at them all.

“Never you mind,” he says. “Go on about your business you lot of Nosy Nancy’s.”

Liam shakes his head and goes back to washing the dishes. Once he’s finished in the kitchen he starts to head back over to help Harry and Niall in the living room but the second he steps away from the sink Louis comes over and pulls him aside.

“Hey, so, can I talk to you out in the corridor really quick?”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “What is it, bombard-Liam-with-news day?” But he follows Louis out into the corridor anyway, leaning against the wall next to his door.

“So, remember those programs I mentioned a while back? When you asked me to see if I could track down Twelve’s family?”

“Yeah…” Liam says a little warily, nervous for what Louis’ about to say next.

“Okay, so I basically set them up to search for whatever they could find on anyone with those names you gave me, documents, records, online profiles, whatever. I got quite a lot of hits at first obviously and it was hell trying to narrow it down. So I tweaked it a little to have it only focus on the ones that had phone numbers listed anywhere publicly and then set up another program to robo-call all the numbers—it’s actually pretty cool, it rings them up to ask if anyone by either name lives at that residence or is registered to that number for Census purposes, and if so, to press one—”

“ _Louis_.”

“Right, sorry. Anyway, from there I managed to narrow it down even more to just a short list of numbers and then sent follow-up robo-calls asking about dates of birth and the names you gave me for his sisters and set it up to notify me on my phone if I got a good hit and…well, I think I just got a match.”

Liam’s hair stands on end. “Holy fuck,” he says, running his hands through his hair, eyes wide as he stares at Louis.

“I know. I’m a _beast_ ,” Louis says, grinning maniacally and Liam barely manages to restrain himself from rolling his eyes because that is very clearly _not_ what he was referring to.

“Yeah, whatever. What’s the number?” he says in a rush.

“Well, I don’t have it _on_ me.”

“I thought you said you got the alert on your phone?”

“Well, _yeah_ , but it’s only set up to give me updates on its progress. The program’s coding doesn’t exactly translate very well to the limited capabilities of a mobile phone, so I can’t see any of the other details or full information until I get back home to my laptop.”

Liam sighs, rubbing at the side of his face tiredly. “Ok, well, just text me the information _as soon_ as you get home, okay? And I _mean_ as soon you get home, like, to the minute.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Louis says, nodding before he inclines his head in the direction of the door. “How’s he doing, by the way? Harry says he seems like he might be on the verge of, like, a breakthrough or something?”

Liam shrugs and shakes his head tiredly. “To be honest, I’m not really sure. He has these moments where he seems to be, like, _almost_ remembering things, you know? But then it just doesn’t quite happen. Like I made him this meal that used to be his favorite and he got this really weird look on his face but when I asked him about it all he could say was that it was familiar.”

“Well, that’s something, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess, but…I don’t know, I’m just sort of starting to lose hope, you know? I mean it’s been _months_ and…nothing. All I can get is that something’s _familiar_ or he _knows_ it but he doesn’t _remember_ it or recall anything else about it. Just a few days ago I found out he still remembers how to speak Urdu and it wasn’t—I mean, they made them learn a bunch of languages, you know, for like missions and stuff—but _that_ wasn’t something they taught him. He just _knew_ it, like how he knew English, without having to be re-taught it. But he doesn’t remember learning Urdu or speaking it or anything from before and I don’t know that he ever will at this point. I guess I’m just starting to wonder if this is the most recovered he’s ever going to get.”

Louis nods, picks at a loose piece of wallpaper on the wall. “Do you…do you think you could be okay with that if it is?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I guess I sort of have to be, don’t I? I mean, if this is as good as it’s going to get and there’s nothing else me or Harry or anyone can do to help him, what choice do I have except to just try my best to be okay with it? I’m not just gonna kick him back out onto the streets because he’s not recovering the way I want him to cause it’s not _his_ fault, you know? It’s what _they_ did to him.”

“Sick fuckin’ bastards,” Louis says icily.

“Exactly.” Liam sighs. “Speaking of sick bastards, did you see the news about Ellis?”

“The MOD guy? Yeah, it’s fucking _insane_ , innit. But I guess money and power will get you anything, ey?”

“Yeah, including a bunch of mindless-child-soldier-sex-slaves to do with as you please.”

“ _Preach_.”

Liam snorts and Louis leers at him, ever the master at diffusing tension.

“Very sexy. Pray tell, how _do_ you keep the boys away, Leemo?”

“Oh, my God. I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Louis smiles, overly sweet and then claps Liam on the shoulder. “Now, come on, let’s get back inside before Harry and Niall start corrupting Twelve with their terrible jokes.”

*

True to his word Louis texts him the number as soon as he gets home that night. It’s late so Liam waits until the following evening to call them. He’d wanted to call first thing in the morning but he’d been worried that because it was Saturday they might all be out and he’d be calling and calling with no answer.

He fidgets nervously in his desk chair as the phone rings, working himself into a frenzy with each ring that goes by with no answer. Finally on the fourth ring someone picks up.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice says.

It’s Zayn’s mum and the sound of her voice immediately takes Liam back to his childhood, to memories of Batman comics and hushed late night conversations, secrets whispered in the dark, Zayn’s smiling face and the sound of his laughter, his _real_ laughter.

“Hello?” she repeats when he doesn’t immediately answer. “Who is this?”

“S-sorry, sorry,” Liam stammers out. “I—I, um…I was, um…”

Mrs. Malik sighs and Liam hears a crackling noise come through the speakers as if the phone is being moved around, and then her voice sounding further away as she yells, “Waliyha! How many times do I have to tell you that you _cannot_ have strange boys calling the house at all hours of the night!”

“What? What are you even on about, Mum?” he hears Waliyha’s faint voice say in the background, older but still unmistakably hers.

 _God,_ Waliyha. The last time he’d seen her she’d been barely eight years old, pigtails and missing front teeth and all. She’d be old enough to be starting uni by now though, probably only home for the weekend, or maybe still staying at home for a gap year.

And Safaa, little Safaa who’d been just a toddler the last time he’d seen her, not even old enough for nursery school, would probably be in secondary school now. Older even than Zayn was when he was taken, which is a ridiculous kind of mindfuck when he really thinks about it. Liam wonders if she even remembers Zayn or if he’s nothing more than a phantom to her, just a collection of pictures and stories of a brother she never really had the chance to know.

No doubt Doniya and Waliyha would have told her all sorts of stories. Doniya especially, considering how much he and Zayn used to annoy her. Little terrors, she used to call them, usually right before slamming a door in their faces. She’d been the most broken up over Zayn’s kidnapping after their mum, blamed herself because her room was right next to his and she felt like she should’ve heard something or known somehow that something was wrong. He hopes she realizes now that she’s older that it wasn’t her fault, that there was nothing she could’ve done. It’s funny he realizes, that he still keeps picturing her as a teenager, so used to that image of her, but she’d be around twenty-five now, probably off starting a career in fashion or make-up like she always used to talked about doing.

“Don’t even try it, Waliyha. I am _not_ in the mood for your games,” Mrs. Malik’s says and the sudden sternness of her voice brings Liam hurtling back to the present.

As guilty as he feels for inadvertently getting Waliyha into trouble, he’s thankful that it’s not him she’s reprimanding. He remembers all too well being on the receiving end of Mrs. Malik’s scoldings and the menacing glare that usually accompanies one and it’s definitely not something he wants to dwell on.

“But I didn’t even _do_ anything,” Waliyha protests.

“Oh, really? Then explain to me why there’s a boy on the phone for you.”

“What boy? I don’t even know what you’re _talking_ about. God, you’re always blaming me for everything! You just assume he’s calling for me, but did you even ask him? How do you know it’s not Safaa he’s calling for or that he hasn’t just got the wrong number or something?”

“ _Do not_ try to bring your sister into this. This has nothing to do with her, this is about you. You may be eighteen and think you’re an adult now but as long as you’re staying under our roof you _will_ follow our rules.”

“God, I _knew_ I shouldn’t have come back home. I should’ve just stayed with Doniya where I wouldn’t have to worry about being _blamed_ for things I didn’t even do.”

There’s the distant sound of feet stomping and then, “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

“To my room since that’s where you were going to send me anyway!” Waliyha says, voice drifting further away with each stomp.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, missy, you can sulk in your room all you want but this conversation isn’t over!”

A moment later the phone crackles again as Mrs. Malik addresses him, “Look, whoever you are, this really isn’t a good time. Waliyha isn’t available right now and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call this number again. From now on if you need to talk to her, call her on her cell phone or find some other way to reach her.”

“No, um, I don’t—I’m not—um, that’s not why I was calling.”

There’s a brief pause where there’s nothing but silence and Liam worries that the line’s dropped or she’s hung up on him, but then he hears her sigh softly. “Are you calling for Safaa, then?”

“ _No_ , no. I’m, um, I was actually…calling for you?” he replies, nervousness making it come out sounding more like question than he meant it to. “I—my—my name’s Liam…I used to be friends with—”

“Liam,” she whispers in disbelief. “ _Zayn’s_ Liam?”

“Um…yeah,” he replies, cheeks flushing a little at her choice of words. “I’m not—I’m not really sure how to say this, but…I found Zayn, or rather, _he_ found _me_ …”

“Oh, my God. _Oh, my God_ ,” she repeats over and over, voice wracked with half-stifled sobs and Liam can’t help picturing her tear-streaked face the day they’d all woken up to find Zayn gone. He can’t even imagine how she must be feeling right now in this moment. Knows that it must be a million times more intense than the emotional rollercoaster he went through after seeing Zayn again for the first time, so he lets her take her time to process before he even attempts to say anything else.

Finally, after a very long and emotionally-wrought phone conversation in which he tries his best to explain his encounter with Zayn at the bank and how he eventually came to live with Liam without going into too much detail, he edges his way into the more delicate heart of the matter.

“So, there’s um…there’s no easy way to say this, but you should know he’s not exactly…himself. The people that took him, they _did_ something to him—a lot of things, really—but he doesn’t remember anything from before he was taken. He doesn’t remember…you…or—or me. Everything from before that point for him is just blank. I know right now all you probably want is for him to come home but I’m just not sure that’s the best thing for him at the moment. I know this isn’t easy to hear but at this point you’d be virtual strangers to him. And coming from where he did he needs a fairly strict routine or he loses all sense of purpose and, from what I can tell, sort of starts to have his own version of a panic attack.”

He thinks back to the time he told Twelve he no longer had a mission and shudders all over again at the wide-eyed look he’d gotten on his otherwise emotionless face and the way his breathing had suddenly picked up. Like his whole world was about to come crashing down around him if he didn’t have something to focus himself on, some greater purpose to serve.

“He doesn’t really know how to take care of himself,” he continues. “He’s only just gotten to the point where he no longer needs round the clock monitoring and is starting to learn to do some things on his own. But I want to warn you that he’s not who…or _what_ you remember and it might be a while before he’s well enough to come home. I know you’ve still got the girls at home and they’re still so young, I just don’t think it would be the safest call for them to be sharing a space with him as he is right now for any extended period of time.”

He hedges around the whole trained assassin situation, again trying to explain as best he can without getting too much into the gory details and there are a lot more tears, both from him and Mrs. Malik. But in the end she’s incredibly understanding about everything, just thankful to know that Zayn’s alive and safe now and Liam gets it because that’s all he’d been worried about in the beginning too. Before reality came crashing down and he was forced to face the cruel truth of everything they’d done to Zayn. He’s terrified of having to be the one break that awful truth to them when they come to visit. He tries to explain what he can over the phone without upsetting them too much, but he doesn’t think they’re anywhere near fully prepared for the extent of the damage they’re going to see firsthand as soon as they try to interact with him. _He_ definitely wasn’t.

*

Harry’s back home with Louis for the weekend. He’s been going home more and more often these last few weeks now that Twelve is starting to learn to be a bit more independent and Liam has gotten better at taking care of him on his own. For this weekend especially though, Harry figured it’d be better for Liam and Twelve and his family to have some time alone to get reacquainted before introducing any friends into all the confusion.

Liam’s sitting at the counter scrolling through his Twitter feed while Twelve watches telly when there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Looks like they’re here,” he says to Twelve as he goes to open it. He gets no response but he knows Twelve heard him so it’s no problem. He opens the door to Mr. and Mrs. Malik’s smiling faces, the girls all crowded around them and he steps into the corridor to hug them all. There might be a few more tears and honestly he’s cried entirely too much this weekend, but it’s _so_ _good_ to see them all after all this time. He just wishes it were under better circumstances.

After he’s gone through all the rounds of hugs and tears and it’s great to see you’s, he pulls back, nervous about how this is all going to go and about what he needs to say to them.

“So, um, I know you’re all excited to see him, but there’s a bit of a speech I need to get through first so you’re fully prepared for what to expect when you do.”

Mr. and Mrs. Malik just nod but the girls look pretty worried and Liam wonders how much Mrs. Malik actually told them after their phone conversation, and how much she might have decided to keep from them because she didn’t want to scare them too much. Regardless, there’s nothing Liam can do about it now, whatever they don’t know they’re about to find out soon. He runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before he blows it back out and starts to explain.

“Okay, so, before you go in I just want to kind of recap a few things I know might be a little hard to get used to. Like I said on the phone, he goes by Twelve now, that’s the only name he knows, so he won’t answer to Zayn, although he is aware that that used to be his name. He doesn’t remember anything from before he was taken so he, um…he won’t recognize or remember any of you, which I know is really hard to hear, trust me, but it’s important that you realize he’s not the same as the Zayn you knew. His social skills are iffy, but we’re working on it. He may do or say things that seem rude or make you uncomfortable, or just flat-out not respond to something you say to him. It’s nothing personal, he’s just still learning the ins and outs of normal social interactions and sometimes he’s not sure how to respond so he just doesn’t.

“Also, he doesn’t feel things the way we do so don’t expect any kind of emotional reaction out of him. He’ll most likely just stare at you or give you a confused look, which is another thing you need to be aware of. He likes to stare—or, well, ‘like’ isn’t really the right word for it—it’s more just something he does, and it may freak you out a little at first, but it’s just his way of getting to know you, familiarizing himself with your facial expressions and mannerisms and speech patterns and everything so he can understand you better. It’s weird at first, but you get used to it. Also, try to keep any sudden movements to a minimum. He’s a bit jumpy when it comes to new people, which you _will_ be to him even though it may be strange for you to think of yourselves that way. The first time he met my friends we had a bit of an incident that I’d rather not risk getting repeated, so just keep that in mind. Um…I think that’s about it for now, I know it’s a bit of an information overload right now, but trust me, it gets easier with time.”

“Can we hug him?” Mrs. Malik says, teary-eyed, as she grips her husband’s hand.

Liam bites his lip. “I’ll have to check with him first. Like I said, he doesn’t really feel things in the same way we do, so he probably won’t mind, but don’t expect him to hug you back or react in any way because he probably won’t. He’s a bit…apathetic about most things, or _all_ things really, because of the emotions thing, so just prepare yourselves for that.”

“But he knows who we are, right?” Mr. Malik says, eyes hopeful. “He knows we’re his family even if he doesn’t remember us?”

“Yeah, I’ve told him about you,” Liam says, smiling softly. “Mostly just stories from when we were little, but he knows who you are.”

“Does he still…you know… _look_ the same?” Waliyha says warily and Liam fidgets a little nervously trying to figure out the best way to answer.

“For the most part, yeah…he’s got some tattoos and scars, a bit of a 5 o’clock shadow cause he hasn’t been sha—um, _he_ hasn’t shaved in a few days. Also, he _is_ still a bit on the thin side cause he doesn’t eat much—”

“Guess some things haven’t changed,” Doniya jokes, smiling, which gets everyone else laughing a little, thick air of tension finally dissipating somewhat.

Safaa’s been relatively quiet in all this though and Liam bites his lip as he glances down at her wondering how she’s taking all this, especially since she probably doesn’t even remember much of Zayn from before. He takes a deep breath and looks back up at everyone else, all their hopeful faces staring back at him. He hates that he has to be the one to rip that hope away but he can’t change what those people did to Zayn anymore than they can and hopefully in time they’ll see that this version of him, although different, isn’t _so_ bad even though it hurts to think about sometimes that he may never be like he was.

He cringes when he thinks back on those first few days with Twelve and how he’d handled things. But he reminds himself that he’d been caught off guard, completely unprepared and overwhelmed by the whole situation, and hadn’t known better at the time; hadn’t known how much everything he did or said was affecting Twelve or how much he was constantly confusing him. He still makes mistakes, but he knows better now how to handle things that just a few months ago would’ve completely freaked him out and he hopes that with time he can help Zayn’s family come to terms with all of this like he’s starting to.

“So…” he hedges, “are you guys ready to meet him?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mrs. Malik says immediately as she squeezes Mr. Malik’s hand again, turning to him with a half-nervous, half-excited smile.

Twelve, unsurprisingly, doesn’t react to any of their hugs, simply stands there, arms down by his sides as they each wrap their arms around him, staring right over their shoulders and straight ahead to the wall. Liam had checked to make sure it was okay first, to which Twelve had, of course, responded with a simple yes in that monotone voice of his. And then Liam had introduced each of them and explained who they each were in relation to him, which was a rather weird, almost surreal sort of experience in and of itself. Now the Maliks are all piling on the couch, which unfortunately isn’t big enough for five people—only just barely big enough to fit four with a bit of a squeeze—so Safaa sits on the floor next to Twelve, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“You can take the recliner if you like, Safaa,” Liam says. “I can sit on the floor with Twelve.”

“I’m alright here,” she says, watching Twelve watch her.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind…”

“No, I’m fine. You said this is his way of getting to know me, right?”

“Yeah.” He nods solemnly.

“Well, then I’ll let him get to know me.” She gives a little curt nod of her own as if to say _I’ve made my decision and my decision’s final_ and Liam has to smile to himself a little because even after all this time she’s still the same. Always was a little wise beyond her years, more like an adult trapped in a child’s body than the actual child she was even when she was just a toddler.

“Alright, well, I’m just gonna go put the kettle on for me and him. Would anyone else like tea?”

“No, I’m alright, thanks, Liam,” says Doniya, smiling at him.

“Me, too,” Waliyha says.

“I’ll have one actually,” Mr. Malik replies.

“Mrs. Malik?” Liam asks, but she doesn’t seem to hear him, all her attention focused on Twelve.

“Trisha, love?” Mr. Malik says, trying to get her attention.

“Yeah?” she answers, her voice coming out half-distracted as she turns ever so slowly away from Twelve, like she’s afraid to take her eyes off him for even a second. And maybe she is, not that Liam would blame her considering.

“Tea, Mrs. Malik?”

“Oh,” she says, laughing a little, “Liam, you’re a grown man now aren’t you, love, you can call me Trisha. But yes, I would like some tea, thank you.”

He nods, starting up the kettle and pulling out mugs for them all, bustling around getting the rest of the things he needs out of the drawers and cupboards.

The visit goes about well as can be expected. There are a lot of awkward silences, blank spaces in the conversation where Twelve’s family try to gauge what’s appropriate to talk about or ask him about, or where Twelve stays silent because he isn’t sure how to respond. Liam tries to help the conversation along as much as he can, but ultimately this whole thing isn’t really _for_ him, it’s for Twelve and his family so he tries to only intervene when he feels like it’s really necessary. Like when the awkward pauses and lulls in conversation go on for just a little too long or he can see one of them starting to get uncomfortable or anxious from Twelve’s responses or lack thereof. Thankfully Twelve doesn’t laugh not once, or Liam’s pretty sure the girls would all run out screaming. He does try to smile a couple of times, which gets some uncomfortable looks, but it’s nowhere near as jarring as the laugh would be. Plus, he seems to be getting better at sensing when he’s making people uncomfortable. After the first few times of smiling or doing something else equally unnerving, like giving some programmed response about how operatives don’t have likes or dislikes, he seems to tone it down a bit and not do things like that quite as often.

By the time the Maliks leave they definitely don’t look as enlivened as they did when they came but they don’t all look completely disappointed either. Well, Trisha and Mr. Malik don’t, though Liam suspects it might be because they’re trying their best to put on a strong and hopeful front and stay positive in front of the girls. And Safaa doesn’t, possibly because she doesn’t have a whole lot to compare this version of Zayn to. Doniya and Waliyha look pretty upset though. Initially, they’d been the ones asking the most questions and trying their best to talk to Twelve, but after a little while they both got pretty quiet and eventually stopped saying much of anything. Liam knows they’re probably feeling a lot like he did when Twelve first came to him, overwhelmed and discouraged.

He follows them all out into the corridor as they leave, closing the door softly behind him.

“So,” he starts softly, “I know this isn’t what you expected or probably what you hoped it would be, and I know it’s not easy seeing him like this, but he _is_ getting better, I promise. Believe me, if you had seen how he was when he first came here you’d know that this is a huge step up from how he was. Those first couple of months he barely spoke at all, wouldn’t say much else outside of yes or no and only then in response to direct questions. He didn’t really seem to have much of an understanding at all of how normal social interactions were supposed to go because he was so used to just being ordered around all the time. Compared to that, he was basically a regular Chatty Cathy today,” he says, smiling a little.

“I know it might be hard not to feel discouraged by how he is, but I think talking to you guys was really good for him even if you might not be able to see it right away. He internalizes a lot of things—that’s how he learns. He watches and listens and tries to understand and then he mulls it all over in his head, analyzing it and reanalyzing it until it makes sense to him and he can figure out how to put it into practice. So, in time, as he starts to get to know you guys a little better and you him, he won’t seem quite as awkward as he might’ve today.”

“He tells you all that?” Doniya asks.

“In a way,” Liam says a little hesitantly, rocking his head from side to side in a sort of noncommittal gesture. “He keeps a journal where he writes down all his thoughts and things he remembers from the bunker—it’s a little exercise me and my friend Harry, who helps me take care of him, started with him. That’s actually what I wanted to talk you all about before you leave.”

He pulls out a rolled up stack of papers from the back pocket of his jeans, saying, “I thought it might be helpful for you guys to read a little bit of it, get a sense of where his head’s at and how much progress he’s made and maybe understand a little better what he went through—and is still going through—so you can communicate with him a little better. I know it may feel like sort of an invasion of privacy, but I talked it over with him before you came and he doesn’t mind you all reading it. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, it’s up to you. I’ll admit I was hesitant at first too, but it really helped me get a better understanding of how his thought process works and how to talk to him in a way that he understands.

“It’s just the lighter stuff to start with. Speaking from experience, I thought it might be better to let you work your way up to the heavier stuff cause it can get a bit overwhelming. He’s very matter-of-fact about things and he’s not exactly sparing when it comes to details. In fact, sometimes he actually goes into _too_ much detail. These are just copies, but if you get through this and you’re comfortable with reading more just let me know and I’ll make sure to have some ready for you the next time you come.”

Trisha nods, eyes tearful again as she takes the stack of papers and says sincerely, “Thank you, Liam. I mean it. Thank you for helping him and taking care of him and finding us and arranging all of this. I can see he’s not really in a state to come home right now and with both of us working and the girls still at home we don’t really have the capacity to care for him the way he’d need right now, but I’m so glad that he found you and for everything you’ve done for him so far. And I’d like to meet Harry and the others as well and thank them too for helping you find us and rallying around you guys and just being so amazing about all of this.”

“Well, that part, the finding you part, was all Louis. He’s really amazing at his job, but he’s mostly just glad to know that he could help and that you guys got the chance to reconnect with him.”

“Well, you’ve got some amazing friends, Liam, and I’m glad that they’ve been there for him as well,” she says, smiling and nodding back towards his door.

Liam smiles softly back at them all. It really is so good to see them and he says as much even though he’s probably said it to them a million times today already. They exchange a few more hugs and then they’re on their way, promising to come back next weekend. He sees them off before making his way back to his flat, pausing in the doorway a moment to look fondly over at Twelve as he sits on the couch drinking the second cup of tea Liam made him just before his family left.

After a little while Liam goes to join him. He’s watching another episode of Friends and it’s hard not to find the little crinkle of confusion in his brow at Joey’s ridiculous antics a little endearing. Liam thinks about what Louis asked him the other day, if he could be okay with knowing that this is as good as it’s going to get, with knowing that Twelve might not ever remember anything of his life from before and might not ever be like the Zayn he knew again.

Right now, in this moment, he thinks maybe he could. It still hurts to think about but the ache gets a little easier every time he sees Twelve learn something new, do something that just a few short months ago would’ve seemed like an insurmountable feat to even get him to understand. Like playing Telephone with the lads and actually playing by Louis’ messed up rules because he understands them now even if he doesn’t get any actual enjoyment out of it. Or laughing with Harry at ridiculous Youtube videos even if it _is_ still a bit creepy and there’s no real feeling in it. He could live with that, he thinks, though he’ll still always miss the old Zayn. But if this really is as good as it gets he’ll take it over the alternative—over the mindless, voiceless puppet—because he doesn’t ever want to go back to that.

*

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon and Harry’s back for the week, helping out with Twelve as usual. Liam’s sitting in bed reading over some of Twelve’s latest journal entries from the last few weeks and taking note of all the questions he’s going to need to answer when he sees it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, eyes scanning the rest of the page as quickly as his brain will allow. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Haz! You need to see this!”

He scrambles off the bed as quickly as he can and runs into the living room. Harry’s in the middle of making Twelve lunch but he comes around the kitchen counter, brows furrowed as he meets Liam halfway, taking the notebook from his outstretched hands.

“He _knows_ him! Twelve fucking _knows_ him!” Liam says, tapping at the open notebook page frantically.

“What?” Harry says, confused as he squints down at the notebook. “Knows who?”

Liam fidgets impatiently as he waits for Harry to finish skimming the page, eyes darting back and forth quickly and a little panicked. When he finally does look back up at Liam it’s with wide eyes and pale cheeks as he says, “ _Christ_.”

Ellis. The racist homophobic dick who just got cleared of all charges of attacking a man who looks _just_ like Twelve, was one of Twelve’s rapists. And Twelve’s had to sit there and see his face plastered all over the telly for the last _three_ _months_. Four, really when he thinks about it because the first story had come out right after Twelve first got there, even though there hadn’t much more news about it until about a month later when Asaad came forward and decided to press charges. And Twelve never said a word.

Liam feels sick to his stomach, and from the look on Harry’s face he knows Harry must be feeling about the same.

“What the hell do we _do_?” Liam says, voice high and panicked. “I mean, if we try to go to the police and explain, we risk Twelve getting arrested—not that I fucking trust the police _or_ the justice system to get _anything_ right, right about now. But they’ll still be looking for someone to pin the bank robbery on, not to mention all the other crimes he’s committed that his journal entries are proof of. They’d lock him up and throw away the key in a heartbeat, trial be damned.”

“Fuck. I know,” Harry says, dropping onto the back of the couch heavily and shaking his head miserably. “I don’t know that there’s anything we _can_ do. I mean, like you said, no matter what we do or how we try to explain there’s no way that he’d be seen as the victim in all this even though he _is_. And even _if_ by some miracle he were, Ellis would probably find some way to get out of it just like he did with the other case.”

Liam’s hates it but he knows Harry’s right. If anyone ever found out who Twelve was or what he’s done they’d be fucked. The entire country would be calling for his head on a spike. And the fact that he’s brown and from a Muslim family would only add unnecessary fuel to the already raging fire. Not to mention Liam and the lads would probably all be implicated by extension for harboring a criminal or some other ridiculous charge, though Liam is fairly certain that that wouldn’t be anywhere near as bad as what Twelve would probably face after everything. It’s not fair to Twelve to have to just sit back and do nothing, especially knowing what they know, but they can’t risk it. No part of this, of any of what happened to him, is fair but there’s nothing they can do about it without making things exponentially worse. There’s a small part of him of course that still hopes maybe someday they’ll be able to get justice for him, but for now they’re virtually sitting ducks.

Harry looks over at Twelve pitifully but Twelve just stares right back at them both with dead eyes and Liam sighs, wondering if he even feels anything at all, any anger or fear or resentment toward this man. Or sadness, even, for the situation, for what was done to him over and over again with no thought to how he would feel or how it would affect him because they took all that away. Operatives may not have feelings but _people_ do, and no amount of training or conditioning can change the fact that somewhere inside, Twelve _must_ feel _something_ even if he’s not fully aware of it. Liam believes that to his core, can’t help but think that the fact that the code words didn’t work—even if it was just that one time—must mean that Zayn, _his_ Zayn, is still in there somewhere. Even then, when he was in the bunker being forced to…to _please_ Ellis, even then his mind was fighting it, fighting what they’d tried to condition him to do. Otherwise, the code words should have worked. But they _didn’t_. And that can’t just mean nothing.

Liam can’t let himself believe that means nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer** : I have no idea if the Malik family is actually anything like this in real life, I don’t follow any of them on social media though I do occasionally see things they post via other sites/other people. But if anyone feels like their characters are way off in any way, feel free to let me know so I can correct it!
> 
> Also it has now been officially over a year since I first started this fic whaaaaatttttt time is crazy and we still have so much further to go smdh but it has been such a wild and interesting and amazing journey so far and I just want you guys to know how much I appreciate your love and support and all the comments and kudos both here and on tumblr! You guys are so amazing and so patient and understanding and it means the world to me, seriously, thank you all so much for sticking with me on this wild emotional rollercoaster ride! All the e-hugs and kisses! :D <3 <3 <3


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

_Zayn_

Twelve is rapidly learning what is considered acceptable and appropriate in social interactions. For instance, it is not considered acceptable or appropriate to continue engaging in behavior that makes others uncomfortable or anxious. So he now makes sure to monitor the reactions of others he is interacting with and to minimize any behavior of his that may be causing such a reaction. Although Liam has assured him that it is still acceptable for him to continue practicing those behaviors which he still has not mastered, like smiling or laughing, when they are alone so that he may learn to perfect them without risking upsetting others, so that is what he does.

He wonders now though what became of the other operatives, the ones that, like him, were out on solo missions during the shutdown. He wonders if perhaps they too found Handlers or Nurses to aide them, or at least people like Liam and Harry who were willing to take on such roles despite not having official training. He wonders too if they faired better than he did in his short time operating on his own or if their functioning failed them much like his almost did. He wonders how many of them faced unintended termination because of this and how many found some way to survive in spite of the challenges they surely faced. He supposes he will probably never know for sure with all remaining remnants of the program destroyed, nevertheless he occasionally still finds his thoughts wandering back to them.

Strangely, memories of his time on his own and in the bunker seem to be coming more frequently now than ever before and are brought on by the most unexpected and unlikely of stimuli. They are much more vivid, often resulting in him losing track of time and place, leaving him disoriented and less aware of his surroundings than he should be and than he usually is. There are only two comparable experiences he can cite for reference for what he is currently experiencing; the most comparable being his experience of the effects of severe dehydration bringing on vivid hallucinations along with a diminished ability to focus on his surroundings and process coherent thoughts. The other is his experience of the familiar effects that indicate he is overdue for another procedure.

Considering he has been consuming a steady amount of fluids in recent months with no significant change to that routine, he is inclined to believe that his symptoms align more closely with the second alternative. Yet it is strange still because if this is in fact the case, his symptoms are not presenting in the usual fashion, though the experience is similar. Typically, the onset is much more sudden and his memories will range from being extremely vivid to relatively vague and unattainable, remaining just outside of his grasp, while in this instance it appears to be more gradual, memories more vivid than vague. But perhaps this is simply presenting as a more gradual phenomenon in general for reasons he does not yet understand and in time he will come to experience the other effects too. Perhaps he is simply experiencing a more prolonged, pronounced version of what he is accustomed to and it will therefore take longer for him to experience the full range of symptoms.

What is unsettling, however, is that if he is correct in positing the reason for his malfunctioning, it means he is in urgent need of a procedure much sooner than expected and that, insofar as he knows, he will not be able to receive anytime soon, or possibly ever again. He does not know what this means for him. He has never before experienced the full gamut of symptoms for any extended period of time without receiving a procedure and thus does not know what will happen as time progresses.

There is a strong possibility that his symptoms will likely continue to worsen and never reach an end until he faces unintentional termination. Or simply that his functioning will continue to devolve until he is unable to function any longer and is no longer useful, also likely resulting in his termination. But there is no protocol for this situation so he does not know how to remedy it. Perhaps he will simply have to face termination. For now he just attempts to stay as focused as he can on his surroundings when he can, though he is often unsuccessful at keeping the symptoms at bay for very long.

Currently he is recovering from a vivid memory of another visitor who had derived much pleasure from whipping him to the point of drawing blood, the memory spurred on by a comment Niall had made about whiplash after Louis hit him in the back of the head.

Louis looks at him now as he becomes aware of his surroundings once again.

“You know,” he says to Twelve, “I don’t know much about Brainwashed Assassin culture, but in most other cultures it’s actually considered rude to stare. Just saying.”

Harry kicks him, brows drawn downward in a glare.

“What?” Louis says. “I’m just putting it out there so he knows.”

“Just think of it as his way of getting to know you,” Liam says coming over from the kitchen to sit down on the floor with them. “It’s like I keep trying to explain to you guys, it helps him understand you better if he can study you, familiarize himself with your expressions and mannerisms and figure out what you’re trying to convey with them.”

Louis crosses his arms. “Well, _someone_ ate a dictionary this morning.”

“Twelve’s journal, more like,” Harry mutters, voice low but not enough that the others can’t hear him and Niall and Louis laugh while Liam looks at Harry, eyes slightly narrowed.

“I could easily make you start paying rent, you know.”

“Ooh, burn!” Niall yells.

“Harry – 1, Liam – 1. Who will win this harrowing battle of witty banter?” Louis says, rubbing his hands together as he looks back and forth between them.

“Hmm…” Niall says. “Normally my money’d be on Harry but Liam’s been stepping up his game a little lately so I think I’m gonna have to go with him this time.”

“You _do_ have a point,” Louis agrees, “but I’m still sticking with Haz on this one. Twelve, what about you? Whose side are you on?”

He thinks about what he has seen of them thus far. Liam and Harry both have their strengths and weaknesses. But in a battle of “wit” such as this one—wit not meant to be taken literally in this case but rather as who would have the quickest and most humorous response according to Louis and Niall’s judgments—he believes Harry would most likely be the clear winner.

“Harry,” he says.

“Ohhh! Plot twist!” Niall bellows, arms raised.

“Hashtag betrayal,” Louis says, raising an eyebrow.

Twelve does not fully understand either expression though he knows what the words mean individually, but he will make a note of it in his journal for Liam or Harry to explain later since there is currently a conversation in progress.

“How’s it taste, Liam?” Harry says, arms crossed.

Niall laughs, saying, “Salty, I bet.”

“Whatever,” Liam says rolling his eyes and shrugging at Harry. “Just because he thinks you would win a dumb contest of ‘witty banter’ or whatever doesn’t mean you’re the one he likes best.”

“Are you sure?” Harry counters, lips turned up in what Twelve has since learned is called a smirk. “Are you _really_ sure?”

“Shut up. I hate all of you,” Liam says, but he is trying to conceal a smile.

*

Twelve startles awake in the middle of the night, sitting up in the bed and panting, his movement inadvertently waking Liam.

“Twelve? S’wrong?” Liam slurs, stirring under the covers and lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He is not sure how to answer this at first. The dream was certainly not calming or pleasant but he does not know that he would necessarily describe it as “bad.” The events that occurred in it, as well all other events that occurred in the bunker, are simply facts of life to him. They are neither good, nor bad, they just are. There are many things though that he would not necessarily classify as “bad” that civilians seem to, Liam and his friends included. So Twelve supposes from Liam’s perspective, given the things he has made known that he considers bad thus far, the dream would be considered bad.

“Yes,” he answers after a brief pause.

“D’you want to talk about it?” Liam says and Twelve refrains from repeating that operatives do not have wants. Liam knows this well by now and Twelve has grown accustomed to the fact that he often uses the word “want” haphazardly and in more of a figurative sense than a literal one. It is to be thought of as “more of a symbolic want than an _actual_ want,” as Liam would say. In this instance he knows that what Liam is really expressing is that _he_ wants Twelve to talk about it and Twelve complies.

He explains to Liam that in the dream he was sent to the Discipline Rooms to be punished for insubordination. It was an early memory, one from his first year in the bunker when he had not yet learned, or rather was unwilling to learn at the time, to keep questions to himself. He had been in combat training, sparring with another operative from his team then, Team Omega. She was a strong fighter but not yet as skilled in defense as she was offense and that weakness ultimately allowed him to overtake her in this particular sparring session. Once he had her subdued one of the Handlers instructed him to break her arm and he questioned why. But it had been a test to see how easily he would comply and he had failed on two counts: not following a direct order and questioning his superiors. As punishment he was taken to the Discipline Rooms and strapped to a chair where he was given a series of injections that made him feel as if his blood and everything else inside him were boiling, burning him alive from the inside out.

It was at precisely this point that everything had begun to morph into more of a dream than a memory and in the next instant the burning sensation was gone and the Doctor stood over him with a strangely shaped tool.

“Will you comply?” he said.

“No,” Twelve replied, and the Doctor reached down and clamped the strange tool around his genitals, then twisted and pulled, ignoring Twelve’s screams just as he had done with the other operative on the operating table from the demonstration.

This was the moment that had awoken him. But this was not how the event had progressed in actuality. There had been no strange-shaped tool and when asked to comply Twelve had replied yes. Even more peculiar, in the dream when he’d expressed his refusal to comply his voice had sounded different, strange, like he was exhibiting an emotion he should not have been able to feel, much less express—one that sounded strangely like anger. He tells Liam all of this, analyzing Liam’s facial expressions as he recounts the dream and noting how uncomfortable Liam appears throughout, as if simply hearing the events of it have caused _him_ pain.

“What do you think it means?” Liam says when he is finished.

“Do civilians assign meanings to dreams?”

“Oh, um…yeah,” Liam says, wide-eyed and then squinting as he strains to see Twelve in the dark. “Yeah, that’s something we do. There are a bunch of theories out there as to why we dream, but one of the main ones is that it has to do with things that are bothering us in our waking life. Like a way to work out our problems or to try to make sense of things that have happened to us so that when we wake up we don’t necessarily feel as worried about it anymore. Nightmares are a bit of a trickier subject but the general belief is that they also represent things that we’re scared of or anxious about in real life. Does that make sense?”

“It is strange, but I understand.”

“Yeah, I guess it is a bit strange when you think about it.” Liam nods, then frowns. “Do you, um, do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep? Or do you want me to make you some tea or something to help?”

“No.”

“No to which?”

“Both.”

He does not think he will be able to return to sleep, but from his perusal of television he also knows now that it is not considered appropriate to wake or keep someone from sleep unless it is for some sort of urgent matter. Tea is not an urgent matter and he has already unintentionally woken Liam. It would not be appropriate to prolong his discomfort any further by keeping him awake for longer than necessary.

Liam raises his eyebrows. “Um…okay, then…do you want Harry’s iPad so you can have something to do? It’s still here on the nightstand from earlier.” He points behind him and then after a moment reaches back to get it without waiting for Twelve to answer. He taps on the screen a few times, plugging in the set of headphones also from the nightstand and then hands it to Twelve. “There you are, Youtube all loaded up and ready to go. You can just click on whatever looks interesting or type something into the search bar like cats or something, like you’ve seen Harry do. I’m just gonna sleep for a couple more hours and then I’ll be up with you, okay?”

“Yes,” Twelve says, taking the device. He puts on the headphones and clicks on the first video in the sequence. The list appears to be based on Harry’s viewing history, so the first video that plays is indeed a video of cats and Twelve sits back against the headboard, fascinated by their movements as they follow the path of a streak of sunlight through the window they are sitting in front of.

*

It is not until days later that Twelve wakes peacefully for the first time in weeks. He is surprised to find he has overslept and even more surprised to find himself with an erection. It is 7:42 and Liam is still asleep. Twelve knows that Liam’s alarm did not go off because even if Liam had not, Twelve would have heard it and awoken much sooner. It is a good thing that Liam is still asleep, however, because it gives Twelve time to contemplate what to do in response to his current situation.

In the bunker he would have been punished for such a reaction, and on a number of occasions was, especially following the incident involving the two mating operatives. The protocols in place for such a reaction became much more strict and the punishments much more severe after their discovery. If a male operative was caught having such a reaction on too many occasions—the exact number of which was often arbitrary and depended heavily on the mood of Director or the staff member who caught it—he would face castration. Typically it was the duty of the Handlers or Nurses to report such an incident to the Director at their discretion, but occasionally the Director would also come to visit their bunks himself upon waking time in what he deemed “random search and seizures.” If an operative was discovered in such a state, his Handler would confer with the Director either on the spot or in a later meeting depending on if the Director was present. From there the Director would decide, with moderate input from the Handler, whether the operative should face the usual punishment or the more extreme one.

Consequently, it was not uncommon for operatives to attempt to hide or engage in some other behavior, such as a random attack or random outburst that would distract the staff from their predicament. Hiding was often the preferable option as distraction attempts usually failed to draw staff’s attention away from their predicament long enough to be successful. Often they were caught anyway and still punished just as severely. Hiding provided more time for operatives to find a solution or for the situation to deescalate on its own. Remaining hidden underneath the bunks or in a supply closet were the likeliest options and the punishment for hiding was much less severe than the alternative.

He knows that Liam is not fond of punishment and so far has not felt the need to punish him for any seemingly unwelcome or abhorrent behavior he displays, but surely there must be a limit to how much he will tolerate. Given the magnitude with which this has always been treated in his experience, if there were ever a limit to Liam’s tolerance this would be it. He does not think that even this is something that can be dismissed or excused away as so many other things he has done have been in the months since he came to stay here. Punishment is surely inevitable, unless he can find some way to remedy the situation.

Pain, he knows, is no use. On a select few occasions he had seen operatives attempting to diminish the reaction by causing themselves pain, though he suspected that for most operatives, as was also the case for him, this was not very effective given their high pain tolerance. After attempting it himself once, he had indeed found his suspicions to be correct and given up on that particular method of remedy. Distraction is also of no use as it would most likely be unsuccessful. His only remaining option is to hide, but Liam’s flat does not provide very many opportunities in the way of remaining concealed. There is not enough space for to him to sufficiently fit under the bed without risking the possibility of crushing his ribs. The bathroom is an option, but it is also the first place Liam goes after waking, which could be any moment now and Twelve would surely be discovered immediately. The kitchen cupboards are too small for him to fit. That leaves only the closet and Twelve turns to it, contemplating the risk of discovery.

If Liam decides to change his clothes upon waking or to retrieve a blanket, Twelve will unquestionably be immediately discovered. But the chances of either of those scenarios occurring are low compared to discovery anywhere else, so in this instance it appears to be the most favorable option. He slides down from the bed slowly, keeping his movements as minimal as possible before slipping his way into the closet, wary of opening either of the doors very far lest they creak and wake Liam. Once inside he closes them both softly behind him and backs himself into the corner, knees up and back against the wall. At least this way if Liam finds him, he won’t immediately see the predicament Twelve is in. He leans his head against the wall, eyes closed as he waits.

Hardly a few minutes pass before Liam is up. Twelve hears the sound of sheets rustling and sees Liam sitting up through the shutters of the closet door.

“Twelve?” he says, rubbing at his eyes and then blinking at the empty space next to him.

Twelve does not answer and Liam stands looking around the room in confusion before he goes out into the living room.

“Twelve?” he calls again, louder this time. “Twelve? Twelve, come on, this isn’t funny.” Another pause. “Twelve?”

Twelve hears the bathroom door hit the wall and then the sound of the shower curtain being pushed back roughly.

“Shit. _Fuck_.”

Liam comes back into the bedroom then looking harried, his hair sticking up in every direction and his eyes wide as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

“Haz,” he says a moment later, voice cracking. Harry says something, but it is too soft and unintelligible for Twelve to make out.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Liam says, “it’s just…Twelve’s—Twelve’s gone.” He looks around the room once more as if expecting him to suddenly appear but Twelve stays where he is. The situation still has not resolved itself and if he reveals himself now he risks facing punishment, the likes of which he does not know what to expect, never having faced it at the hands of Liam before. While it is true that Liam has been nothing but kind to him thus far, that does not necessarily mean that he would be any less ruthless and cunning than the Director was when it comes to punishment. The Director often regarded him with kindness as well until it came time for him to be disciplined.

“ _What_?” Twelve hears Harry say through the phone, his voice loud enough now to be discerned clearly.

“He’s gone,” Liam repeats softer, voice cracking again.

“What do you mean he’s _gone_?”

“He’s just fucking gone, Haz, okay, I woke up and he was just gone. He’s not in the living room, he’s not in the kitchen, he’s not in the bathroom, he just _left_.”

“Well, _where_ would he have even gone?”

“I don’t _fucking_ know, Haz. If I knew that do you think I’d be standing here talking to _you_ right now?”

“Whoa, okay, look, I get that you’re upset right now, I am too. But don’t go taking your anger out on me becau—”

“I know, I know.” Liam sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just…don’t know what to do.”

“I know. Look, just stay put, okay? I’m coming over and we’ll figure out what to do from there. I’ll text Niall too, we’ll be there in like twenty.”

“Okay.” Liam nods, sniffling. “I’ll um…I’ll see you guys soon, I guess.”

Harry mutters something else too low for Twelve to make out and then Liam hangs up, dropping back down to lay on his back across the bed and sighing. All the while Twelve stays where he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested and haven’t already seen it here’s the link to the [sun-bathing cats video](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/sunbathing) referenced in the story that’s been making the rounds on tumblr, with gifs included if you don’t feel like watching the whole video but you definitely should cause it’s cute and only like 2 minutes long and you won’t regret it, I promise.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the long wait :( been going through some really heavy family stuff and hadn't felt up to writing for a while but I'm back now, hope you enjoy!

_Liam_

Liam wakes up to find Twelve gone. No trace of how or why he left, just an empty cavern of space in the bed and no sign of him anywhere. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut that materialized somewhere around the time he woke up alone. And it seems to have shacked up and made permanent residence there ever since he first went tearing through his flat in the desperate hope that Twelve might still be there even though he’d known somewhere deep down that he wouldn’t find him.

He can’t help thinking about that ridiculous expression that people always throw around to be elusive in spy films where some person goes missing and someone makes the point that if they don’t want to be found, they won’t be. It always seemed so cliché to him, but now it’s _real_. Now _Twelve’s_ the one that’s missing and Liam _knows_ without a doubt—despite how Harry had tried to comfort him on the phone when they spoke earlier—that there’ll be no finding Twelve unless _he_ wants them to, unless _he_ comes to them first or _lets_ himself be found.

There’s a knock on the door and Liam goes to answer it, letting Niall and Harry in. He’s not even sure what the purpose of them coming all the way over here is anymore. It’s not like there’s anything they can do except sit around trying, and probably failing, to make him make him feel better. Honestly, Louis would probably be the most helpful in this situation given his hacking skills. He could probably find some way to hack into the security cameras all around the city and run some sort of facial recognition software or something to see if they spot Twelve anywhere. But it’s Monday and he’s still at work. The only reason Liam’s even off is because David’s still out of town on a business trip, or a family trip or something or other and won’t be back till Wednesday. He’d been excited to actually have some extra time off to spend alone with Twelve while Harry went back home for a few days, but any trace of excitement he might have been feeling is gone now. Flew right out the window the moment he woke up to an empty flat.

“Hey,” Niall says, pulling him in for a hug the moment the door is open. Liam goes easily, dropping his head to Niall’s shoulder and sighing miserably.

He feels so useless. He’d thought they’d been making so much progress, him and Twelve and the other lads. Could see Twelve falling right into place with the others almost like he fit, like he _belonged_. But now he can’t help thinking that it was all just a ruse, just some sort of ploy to gain Liam’s trust or get something out of him or who even knows what while all the while Twelve was really just biding his time waiting for the perfect moment to make his escape.

It doesn’t make any sense though, for him to just up and leave _now_ of all times. Why not any other night? Or even in the middle of the day? He could easily have just knocked Liam and/or Harry unconscious, probably even at the same time, and just walked right out at any point if he wanted to. Why _now_?

Liam tries to think back to everything he’s said or done in the last couple of days, trying to figure out if any of it could have been important, important enough to make Twelve feel like he’d gotten what he needed and didn’t have any other reason to stay.

A horrible thought hits him then.

What if this was all part of a mission?

What if _everything_ Twelve’s told him up to now was a lie? What if the Director’s still alive and the program is still running and all of _this_ —all these months of bonding and cohabitating and learning—was all just a part of some mission to infiltrate Liam’s life and get information out of him? It sounds _insane_ , even if his head, but what if it’s the truth? Is it really any more insane than anything else Twelve’s been made to do by the Director and his band of evil assassin-babysitters and mad scientists? What if it was all just a test to see if Liam would actually fall for it, if he’d actually _believe_ that he could fix Twelve and bring his best friend back? For all he knows the Director and his cronies are sitting somewhere in a dank bunker miles away watching all of this and laughing their arses off at Liam’s expense. _Look at him_ , t _he poor little naïve boy who thought he could undo all the wonderful damage we’ve done just by the power of friendship, how cute_.

Liam pulls back from Niall, sucking in a breath all in one sudden movement.

“Liam?” Harry says from beside Niall, brow furrowed.

Liam shakes his head, only just now realizing they’ve been standing in the hallway all this time. “Sorry, it’s—it’s nothing, I’m just, um…nothing, it’s nothing. Why don’t you guys come in and I’ll start the kettle up.”

He steps back from the door, opening it wide and letting them both file past him. Niall lifts the pack of beer in his hand once he’s inside and says, “Figured you could probably use a drink, considering. It’s 5 o’clock somewhere, right?”

Liam shrugs. He probably could, but considering the state he’s in right now he doesn’t think it’s such a good idea, it’ll probably just bring him down more.

Once the tea’s done they all pile onto the couch, Liam slouched miserably in the corner staring down at his cup but not drinking any. Niall tries to suggest putting up missing person’s posters but Liam answers by immediately listing off all the reasons why that’s a horrible idea until Harry lays a hand on his shoulder to stop him and they all just sit there quietly, thinking, or in Liam’s case panicking.

“What about searching for nearby bunkers?” Harry says after an interminably long silence, sitting up suddenly in his place. “I mean, he said himself in his journals that he sometimes misses the stability of the bunker, right? What if he got…I don’t know, homesick, so to speak, and went back there?”

Liam looks up at him, eyes narrowed because Harry _does_ have a point, but he’s not about to mention any of his other, darker thoughts to them right now concerning why else Twelve might’ve gone back to the bunker. Liam doesn’t need any more of their pity.

“Why would he go back there if there’s nothing to go back _to_?” he says sourly.

Harry shrugs. “Familiarity, nostalgia, regret…any number of reasons, really.”

“You’re forgetting he doesn’t _feel_ any of those things.”

“That we know of,” Harry counters. “Doesn’t mean they’re not still in there buried deep somewhere where he doesn’t realize it. For all we know, he _can_ feel and he’s just trained himself not to show it for so long to avoid being punished that it’s become like his default setting. Or he’s just not aware of the fact that what he might be experiencing are feelings because he’s been told for so long that he doesn’t have any, that he’s not _supposed_ to have any. He could’ve just felt drawn back to the bunker and not known why.”

“Or he could just _not_ _feel_ _anything_ like he’s been telling us _this entire time_ and just decided to leave just because.”

“But even that’s still significant though, isn’t it? That, whatever the reason, it’s something _he chose_ to do.” Liam just glares at him but Harry presses on. “I mean, the fact that he might’ve chosen something for himself, even if it’s not what we would’ve wanted for him, that’s a _huge_ step up from not being capable of even thinking of yourself as having a choice, as _making_ a choice.”

Liam shrugs, not really in the mood to give Harry the satisfaction of being right at the moment even though he knows he probably is. On Harry’s other side Niall shivers, rubbing his hands over his bare arms and eyeing his coat where it’s draped over the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen counter.

“S’fucking cold in here, innit?” Niall says, turning back to them.

“Yeah, sorry,” Liam says, looking around for the blanket he’s been keeping over the back of the couch now that the weather’s gotten colder. “Building-wide thing, they’re not turning on the heat till December something or other, so until then we’ll basically be freezing our arses off.”

“Seriously?” Niall exclaims. “They turned it on at my flat like _two_ _weeks_ ago.”

“Yeah, they did ours last week,” Harry adds, brow furrowed. “December’s still a couple of weeks away and the temperature’s only gonna drop more. How is that _not_ a giant health hazard?”

Liam shrugs, getting up to check behind the couch and the recliner for the blanket. “Probably is, but I don’t think the building managers really care as long as no one dies and everyone keeps paying their rent on time. Especially Jerry. He could give a rat’s arse about what happens to any of us as long as he still gets his money.”

He stands behind the couch looking down at the empty spot on the floor where he’s sure the blanket should have fallen for a full thirty seconds before he remembers where he put it. The weather had been unseasonably warm last week, especially for November, and he’d gotten tired of knocking the blanket off the back of the couch and then folding it and refolding it when he wasn’t even using it so he’d put it up in the closet.

He heads back into his room to get it, opening the closet door and then letting out an embarrassingly high squeak at what he finds instead. Or rather _who_.

Twelve is sitting scrunched up in the back right corner, half obscured in shadow, but looking up at Liam with, oddly enough, wide eyes. Almost as if he’s afraid. There’s no actual emotion in his eyes, no fear that Liam can see in the dim light streaming in from the window on the other side of the room. But it reminds him of the time he told Twelve he had no mission, when he’d looked at Liam with wide, emotionless eyes and practically started hyperventilating. He’s breathing normally now but he has that same look on his face and Liam wonders if there might actually be something to what Harry said earlier, about being able to feel but not being able to recognize it for what it is. Or maybe just being so used to _not_ being able to show emotions he doesn’t know how to start again. Except for moments like these when a hint of _something_ seems to slip through.

“Liam?” Harry says, peeking his head around the bedroom door, the top of Niall’s head just visible behind him. Liam just looks at them, words escaping him, and then turns back to the closet where Twelve is. Harry squints, probably unable to see into the closet clearly from the angle he’s at, and steps into the room cautiously, Niall close on his heels. “What is it? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Niall steps out from behind Harry and strides up to the closet next to Liam before he stops short and just says, “ _Shit_.”

“ _What_?” Harry repeats and then stops short too right behind Niall, mouth snapping shut.

It takes some coaxing but eventually they get Twelve to come out. He won’t look at any of them though, just keeps his gaze trained on the floor and stays quiet as if he’s waiting for something.

“Twelve?” Liam says gently once they’ve gotten him to sit down on the bed. “D’you want to tell us what you were doing in there? Why you were hiding?”

Twelve just stays silent though and Liam sighs, resolving that he’s probably not going to get any answers out of him anytime soon. Liam has him lay down and tells him to just try to rest even though Liam knows he probably won’t while he, Harry, and Niall head back out into the living room.

“At least he’s _here_ ,” Niall says softly as soon as Liam closes the door behind them.

“You don’t have to whisper, you know,” Liam reminds him. “He can hear us either way, remember?”

“Right, sorry. Habit.”

“S’alright. But yeah, at least as he’s here.” Liam nods wearily, heading over to the couch and leaning against the back of it. It’s certainly a hell of a lot better than everything he’d been thinking, but he still wishes he knew what happened to make Twelve feel like he needed to hide. As far as he knows he hadn’t done anything to make Twelve feel like he had to, especially not while he was sleeping. But then again, he spends ninety percent of his time not really sure _what’s_ going on in Twelve’s head until he reads it on paper so he figures he’s probably not the best judge.

“Any ideas as to what might have happened?” he asks Harry. “From a psychological standpoint, I mean.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not much I can say without a reference point for what might have happened leading up to it.”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Liam says defensively. “I mean, I was sleeping like I said, and I just woke up and he was _gone_. Hiding, I guess. That’s it. I didn’t… _do_ anything out of the ordinary last night or anything. We just ate dinner, watched telly, I gave him a shower, and then we went to bed. That’s all.”

“Is it? Are you sure you didn’t _say_ anything that might’ve triggered something?” Harry asks.

Liam shakes his head emphatically. “All we really talked about was dinner and the episode of Corrie he was watching. Nothing too different than usual.”

“Maybe he just had a really bad dream and got scared?” Niall cuts in.

“But he has bad dreams all the time,” Liam counters. “He’s never done anything like _this_.”

Niall shrugs. “Maybe it was worse than the others.”

“Look, no offense, guys, but this isn’t getting us anywhere,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair. “Obviously _something_ happened but we won’t know _what_ until he tells us, if he _ever_ tells us. For now I think the best thing is to just keep going as if everything’s normal, let him know we’re not angry with him or anything and that we’re here for him when he’s ready to talk.”

Liam nods, going back into his bedroom to get Twelve who’s just laying on the bed staring straight up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” he says softly as he sits on the edge of the bed, “I just want to make sure you know you’re not in trouble or anything. We’re not mad at you, we’re just worried. You gave us all quite a scare, you know? I just want you to know that whatever happened, whatever I did to make you feel like you needed to hide, I didn’t mean to and I know it probably doesn’t really mean anything to you, but I’m sorry.”

Twelve just looks at him and Liam runs a hand through his hair, feeling like they’ve gone ten steps backwards and wondering how he’s ever going to fix this and get them back to where they were.

*

Liam is not at all prepared for how easily things just back to normal. What he _is_ prepared for is for Twelve to retreat, to go right back to being the stoic, impassive, unresponsive version of himself that he was when he first came. But that’s not what happens. Twelve, surprisingly—but also somewhat unsurprisingly in a way—seems relatively unfazed by the incident after the fact. Once he’s out of the room he goes right back to acting like he has been these last couple of months. It’s weird and not at all what Liam expected and Twelve still won’t answer any of his questions when he tries to ask what happened but he’s also not complaining. After all, he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It’s been almost a week since it happened and things have been fairly normal, or as normal as can be expected with Twelve—visits with his family notwithstanding. Things on that front have been a bit tense to say the least. Doniya and Waliyha stopped coming after the second visit, saying it hurt too much to see him that way, so now it’s just his parents and Safaa. Twelve, predictably, seems unbothered by the change and Liam doesn’t fault his sisters for feeling the way they do, but he also can’t help wishing they would just give him another chance, try a little harder.

He thinks about all this as he runs the water for Twelve’s bath. And he knows it might seem silly, giving Twelve a bath, but he just feels like after the week Twelve’s had he could use something a little more soothing and relaxing than a regular shower, even though Liam knows it probably makes no difference to him either way.

He lets the water fill almost all the way up before he motions to Twelve to step in. And then he has to hold back a little giggle because once Twelve’s in the tub he just stands there, looking up at the shower head and then back down at Liam in confusion like _where’s the water_? Except that with the face he makes Liam could almost picture him gesturing—if that were the sort of thing he did—as if to say _um, you forgot to turn on the shower, dumb ass_. And then he’s pressing his lips together _really_ fighting not to laugh because it’s just such a _Zayn_ thing to do, to somehow manage to fit a whole sentence-worth of meaning into one well-timed glare.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says still half fighting back giggles as Twelve looks at him. “It’s just…your _face_.” Liam shakes his head at himself, sucking in a breath to try and gain back some sort of composure. “Okay, okay, serious mode, serious mode. It’s a _bath_ , not a shower. So you don’t have to stand, you just sit and relax while I wash you off. And when I’m done you can just sit back and enjoy the warm water. Got it?”

“Yes,” he says, dropping himself down into the water, knees up, and waiting.

“Have you never had a bath before? That you can remember, I mean?” Liam says, wading a hand through the water to make sure it’s warm all over and there aren’t any cold spots.

“No.”

“Only ever showers in the bunker, then? Not even maybe as a reward or anything?”

“No.”

Liam nods. “Figures. Well, they’re supposed to be relaxing, help you wind down after a hard day…or a hard week. Try laying back, close your eyes and just…enjoy the warm water for a bit.”

Twelve follows dutifully while Liam soaps up the flannel and then just sits by the tub, wanting to give him a chance to actually relax, to actually enjoy it, if he’s even capable of that. It’s while Liam’s sitting there watching him though that he realizes something’s different. Not with Twelve, but with himself. He’s seen Twelve naked a million times by now, but never like this. Never laid out like this looking so innocent, so peaceful, almost _blissful_. Even though he’s probably not even capable of _feeling_ bliss, but still. And even better, he looks _healthy_ , not like the walking skeleton he’d been before, face sunken in and bones protruding, but actually healthy. He looks…good. Slender frame accented by lean muscle and golden brown skin, dark hair framing his face and light stubble on his jaw, long legs and—Liam stops that thought right in its tracks before it can go any further, specifically _down_ further.

He shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about Twelve this way. He takes care of him, that’s it. The moment he starts letting his thoughts stray any further than that is the moment he becomes just like _them_ , just another exploiter taking advantage of someone who’s already had more than his fair share of abuse. It’s not fair to Twelve and even more importantly, it’s _wrong_. Twelve’s had enough suffering at the hands of others and their perverse desires, the last thing he needs is for Liam to join the long list of people who have taken advantage of him. Lingering childhood crushes notwithstanding, he seriously needs to get over himself and get his shit together.

He picks up the flannel, dipping it in the water briefly to re-lather it and then looking up to find Twelve watching him. _Shit_.

He probably didn’t see anything. Right? All he probably would’ve seen was Liam looking at the water and definitely _not_ anything else. Hopefully.

Liam clears his throat, avoiding Twelve’s eyes as he leans forward to wash him. The bath was probably a bad idea.

*

The bath was _definitely_ a bad idea. Now, no matter how hard he tries he can’t _stop_ thinking about it. He just keeps picturing Twelve in the tub looking so innocent and peaceful, all lean muscle and brown skin and he’s fucking screwed is what he is because the feelings have always been there. Never left. Just stayed buried under the surface for so many years Liam had managed to convince himself he’d gotten over it. Though really his track record when it comes to dating should’ve made it obvious. But then again, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, and it is fierce and raging in its intensity.

And it’s ridiculous because this isn’t even Zayn, not really anyway, not the Zayn he _knew_. This is _Twelve_ , who may look like Zayn and inhabit the same body as him, but is completely and utterly different from the boy he grew up with. And yet somehow he managed to develop feelings for them both. Because he’s fucking ridiculous and also a huge pile of human trash who apparently can’t seem to find a way to separate his feelings from his responsibilities as a caretaker for the life of him.

If he’s honest with himself though, this all started way before now. Started the moment he began to think of anything Twelve did as endearing instead of weird or frustrating or creepy. Started the moment he first thought of it as “our flat” instead of “my flat,” the moment he began to defend Twelve’s behavior as if it was something normal, the moment he started seeing Twelve as a person in his own right and not just the shell of his former friend. But now that he’s aware of it, all he wants to do is make it stop because he _can’t_ feel this way. It’d be like a doctor falling for their patient or a teacher falling for their student—not that Liam is in any way comparing himself to an actual doctor, or a teacher, for that matter, but the idea is similar. In a way he is a bit like Twelve’s caretaker and teacher, looking after him and doing the things he can’t do for himself, helping him understand this great big confusing world he’s suddenly found himself thrust into. The last thing he wants is to compromise any of that or make Twelve feel unsafe or uncomfortable all because he can’t learn how to control his stupid feelings and keep himself in check. He seriously needs to get a grip.

But that’s not even the only thing that’s been bothering him though.

Ever since he came across that journal entry of one of Twelve’s “visits” with Ellis, and the whole closet incident that had happened, he’s been thinking a lot about Twelve’s code words. He doesn’t actually know what they are. Twelve’s never written them out explicitly in any of his journal entries and Liam’s too afraid to ask for fear of triggering him. But it makes him nervous, not knowing, because he feels like anything he says at anytime could be _it_ , could be the thing that sets Twelve off into a rage, the thing that pushes him over the edge or even that turns him back into the submissive, mindless robot he was when he first came here. For all Liam knows, that’s what set him off that morning. Maybe Liam mumbled something in his sleep or even said something before they went to bed that triggered some sort of automatic response. Maybe he thought he was back on a mission and had to hide to avoid getting caught. Liam has no idea. And no way of finding out.

He doesn’t even know how many code words there are or what they all do, though it’s obvious from Twelve’s journal that there are quite a few for the different “modes” they needed to be in. Just his luck one of them—or all of them—will turn out to be some common phrase or expression. It seems like exactly the kind of thing those sick fucks would do, find some way to turn some innocuous phrase into something insidious as their idea of a sick joke.

He’d tried to talk to Harry about it, and they’d bounced ideas off each other to see if they could figure out some sort of loophole to work out what any of the code words could be without accidentally triggering anything but that hadn’t ended up getting them much of anywhere. Every idea one of them came up with only ended up getting immediately shot down on the off chance that it could still have some sort of effect and they’d have no way of knowing how to stop it, how to help. So now they’re right back to square one and Liam thinks it’s probably way past time to raise the white flag and explore other options. Like maybe bringing in the one person who’s more qualified to deal with any of this than they are, and who might actually be able to help them get some concrete answers for once.

*

Niall has told Sarah the basics, as per their conversation a few weeks back, but now that they’ve officially decided to bring her in on all this—after a very long and drawn out conversation between Niall, Liam, Harry, Louis, and Twelve—things are getting real.

Liam’s cleaning up in preparation for their first Boy’s Night In featuring Sarah, which he’s not really sure can even technically still be labeled a “boy’s” night in, in this case, but whatever. Semantics. After a quick demonstration of the how the vacuum works, Liam even manages to get Twelve to help him clean while Liam wipes down the kitchen and the coffee table. He knows it’s probably pointless to even bother cleaning when it’s just going to end up getting messy all over again by the end of the night, especially if Louis has anything to do with it. But it’s Sarah’s first time here and he wants to make a good impression. Plus it gives him something to do with his restless energy while he waits for them all to get here.

He’d had to do a bit of rearranging trying to see if Twelve’s family could come on Sunday instead of their usual Saturday, which was the only day Sarah was free to come over this week. Honestly, it feels a bit weird, doing all this prep for Boy’s Night In on a Saturday night as opposed to Friday while trying to mentally prepare for Twelve’s family visit tomorrow, but he’s dealing with it.

Harry’s been gone since yesterday evening, back home for the weekend again, so Liam’s been alone with Twelve all day, which isn’t all that big a deal seeing as he’s been getting pretty used to taking care of Twelve on his own these past few weekends. But all the waiting and anticipation was starting to get to him, hence cleaning. He doesn’t really know why but he’s nervous about Sarah meeting Twelve. Maybe because of the fact that he’s introducing yet another new person into Twelve’s already over-complicated life, or maybe just because he’s a little afraid she’ll be angry at them all for keeping this from her. So he cleans, dusting and wiping down all the flat surfaces he can find while Twelve vacuums around him until there’s a knock at the door.

“Okay, so, first off,” Sarah says the second he opens the door, “I can’t believe you guys kept me out of the loop for so long because you _actually_ thought I’d be freaked out. I mean, okay, not gonna lie, _little bit_ freaked out by the whole child-soldier-sex-slave thing and the fact that we could be being watched at any second of any day and not even know it, but also, like, what else is new, you know?” She strides past Liam and into the middle of his flat, tugging Niall along behind her as she continues her rant. “Like, honestly with the shit I’ve seen and heard at my job, yeah, all of this is disturbing and I’m a little bit freaked out, but also, like, not a hundred percent surprised. I mean, you guys _do_ understand that I’ve dealt with vets before who were _deep_ in the shit, right? Like raped and tortured and brainwashed and held captive and also trained in the worst kinds of torture themselves. And like Special Ops-type shit where they’re sent on super secret missions that no one’s supposed to know about and made to slaughter whole families in their beds without questioning any of it? Yeah, that’s everyday for me, so again _this_ ,” she waves a hand at Liam and the room in general for emphasis, “not all that surprising or shocking, though admittedly still very disturbing in its own right.”

There’s a soft clacking noise from the floor in front of the couch where Twelve sits meticulously wrapping the chord for the vacuum around itself and Sarah stands up on her toes trying to peek over the back of the couch to see him.

“Is that him?” she mouths, inclining her head in his direction and Liam nods. Sarah’s eyes widen as she whispers, “Shit, sorry. When I didn’t see anyone I figured he was back in another room or something.”

“It’s alright, you didn’t know. Hey, um, Twelve, can you come here a sec?” Twelve looks up at Liam from the floor, chord still in hand, and Liam shakes his head. “Don’t worry about the vacuum, I’ll finish putting it up. There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”

Liam waits until Twelve’s beside him before he continues. “This is Sarah. She’s, um… worked with people like you before. Not—not _operatives_ , soldiers, like in the army. But she knows a little bit about what you might be dealing with and she’s here to help.”

Twelve goes through his usual awkward introduction and Sarah seems unfazed by his creepy smile and his unemotional greeting, which Liam has to commend her for. She may have seen some rough things at her job but he doubts any of the other vets there have had their humanity and their emotions stripped away as completely as this.

There’s another knock on the door then—Louis and Harry—and Liam goes to let them in.

“I see the party’s started without us, then,” Louis says, prancing past Liam without even so much as a hello as he greets Niall and Sarah.

Harry leans in for a hug and Liam returns it gratefully. “Things been alright today?” he says after he’s pulled back.

Liam nods. “Yeah, pretty good actually. Even got him to help me clean.” Harry raises his eyebrows at that and Liam adds, “Yeah, _really_. Got him using the vacuum and everything.”

“Liam?” Sarah calls and he turns back around to face her. “Would it be alright with you if I sat and talked with Twelve for a bit? He says it’s fine with him but I wanted to check with you first too just to be sure.”

“Oh, um, yeah…” Liam says, surprised at how well she’s already handling this. “If it’s alright with him, it’s alright with me. We’ll just hang out in the kitchen till you’re done.”

He rounds the others up and herds them into the kitchen where they all crowd around the counter passing around snacks and beers.

“So,” Louis says, popping open the tab on his beer, “how’ve things been going with his family?”

Liam shrugs. “About as well as can be expected, I guess. His other two sisters still haven’t come back to see him, but his parents and his youngest sister Safaa still come. I’ve been giving them copies of his journals to read—well not Safaa, she’s still too young—but they’ve been reading it and coming to see him every weekend, talking to him, telling him stories from his childhood, trying to get to know him and how he is now. It’s hard for them obviously but I think they’re starting to understand where he’s coming from, you know? I just wish Doniya and Waliyha would come around.”

“Give it time,” Louis says. “I’m sure they’ll come round eventually. I don’t know what I’d do if it were one of _my_ sisters that had happened to—probably find a way to track down everyone involved with ‘the program’ and murder them all in their sleep—but if they love him like I’m sure they do they’ll come back. They just might need a little time to get used to the idea of him like this and not like how they remember him.”

“Yeah, I know.” Liam nods, then turns to Niall. “Thanks, mate, for convincing Sarah to come. I really appreciate it.”

“Trust me, it didn’t take much convincing on my part,” Niall says smiling as he pops a crisp into his mouth. “She was so excited she practically dragged me all the way over here. She’s hardly stopped talking about it _all week_ , ever since I first told her all the gory details. She lives for this kind of stuff—I mean, you know, not the whole PTSD and trauma part of it all, but like, helping people and that. Helping people start the healing process and everything.”

“How long has she been working with vets?” Harry says, curious.

“Since her second year of uni, I think. It started out as just an internship, but after she graduated she decided to stay on while she works on her Master’s.”

“Wow,” Harry says, shaking his head. “That’s amazing. Makes me feel a bit shit to be honest, not really putting my own psych degree to good use.”

“Told you she was a keeper, Niall,” Louis says, lifting his can to Niall in a salute and taking a huge sip of beer. “Seriously, mate, if you don’t marry her, I will.”

Sarah talks to Twelve for nearly an hour while they all stand around the kitchen talking about nothing in particular and pretending not to listen in. And then she’s up, coming into the kitchen with them and grabbing a beer while Twelve turns on the telly.

“Have yourselves a nice little chat, then?” Louis says only half-sarcastically.

“We did, actually, thank you very much,” Sarah snarks right back before downing half her beer in one go.

“ _Keeper_ ,” Louis mouths to Niall, eyebrows raised and smirk firmly in place.

“So, question for the group…why did no one warn me about his face?” Sarah says, looking around at all of them suspiciously.

“What’s wrong with his face?” Liam says a little defensively.

“Exactly,” Sarah says, finishing off the rest of her beer and tapping her empty can on the counter.

Liam furrows his brows at her while the others just stare at her dumbly.

“What, are you gonna tell me that _none_ of you noticed how beautiful he is? Because somehow I find that a little hard to believe.”

Liam goes red while Harry bites his lip and looks at the floor. Louis just shrugs, looking completely unfazed, like _yeah, he’s hot, whatever_. Poor Niall is pouting and Sarah comes over to wrap her arms around his neck saying, “Aw babe, you know I love you, Ni. But even you have to admit his face _is_ very symmetrical.”

There’s some grumbling on Niall’s part but after a couple of kisses he eventually assents, “Yeah, alright, he _is_ really good-looking in, like, an objective way I guess…if you’re into the whole rugged brainwashed assassin vibe.”

“Adorable rugged Irish vibe is more my thing,” Sarah says giggling and turning around to press herself into his side. “Trust me, if tortured soldier was my type I’d never leave my job, well, my _other_ job. I’d definitely leave the barista job if I could afford to live on just one shitty salary, but unfortunately I need two.”

“So what made you interested in working with PTSD victims? Or was it something you always wanted to do?” Liam asks.

Sarah shakes her head, wisps of curly hair brushing over Niall’s shoulders and the side of his face from her being tucked in so close to him. “No, not really. I didn’t even know it was something I was interested in until I started interning there. I only signed up cause I needed the credits but once I started I fell in love with it, with the idea of helping people who’d seen the worst mankind has to offer and still somehow managed to find a way to come out of it on the other side. Plus it fit right in with what I was studying for my degree. I was pre-med with a focus in biopsych and cognitive psych.”

Liam gapes, doesn’t even know how to respond to that and Sarah laughs at the expression of utter shock on his face. “Not what you expected, is it?”

Liam doesn’t answer at first, can’t do anything but stare. Even after everything Niall’s told him it still comes as such a surprise. Psych he could sort of see with her personality, even the wanting to help people part. But _pre-med_?

“S-sorry,” Liam stutters finally regaining a little of his composure. “It’s just…you don’t really seem like the type to be pre-med.”

Sarah laughs again, shrugging. “Yeah, well, the endgame was always alternative medicine but, you know, had to learn ‘real’ medicine first and all that other nonsense they try to force feed you. Now, I’m actually doing what I want to do though which is working on my Master’s in integrative medicine, with a focus on alternative treatments for PTSD.” She turns to Harry then. “What about you, Harry? Niall tells me you were a psych major as well?”

“Oh, yeah, um, abnormal psych.” Harry nods, sitting up a little taller. “We delved a little into PTSD in some of my courses but my main focus was depression and generalized anxiety. S’what I did my thesis on, so I wasn’t really all that prepared for, you know… _this_.” He waves a hand at the room at large, smiling, and Sarah smiles too.

“Yeah, I don’t think _anyone_ can really be prepared for this. It’s a bit mad.”

“It’s _a lot_ mad,” Liam amends and the others nod their agreement. “So…what do you think? About, you know, him and what they did to him? Any ideas or…advice, maybe?”

Sarah glances over at Twelve on the couch and then back to Liam, untangling herself from Niall’s side as she takes on a more serious disposition.

“Well, my theory is they must have done something to him to block off access to his memories. It’s the only possible explanation. The brain’s not exactly a salad, you know? You can’t just scoop out the parts you don’t want and still expect to have a moderately fully functioning person left afterwards. Whoever did this to him would’ve known that and, I don’t know how they did it, but they must have found some way to pinpoint the specific point in his life that they wanted to start from and somehow cut off everything before it, like a blank slate.

“The fact that he still knew how to speak and write and even recognize and identify things in his surroundings after waking up without having to be re-taught any of it tells me that whatever they did must have been explicitly targeted on a very specific portion of his long-term memory. They would have had to somehow focus _only_ on the part of the brain that processes episodic memory, the hippocampus.”

“Episodic memory?”

“Basically, all the memories or the collection of events that make up the majority of what you remember of your life and the emotions associated with those moments.”

Liam nods. “Oh. Ok, yeah, that makes sense.”

“And it’s pretty much the same story with the lack of emotion he exhibits. They would have had to focus only on the amygdala, the part of the brain that’s most responsible for processing emotions. Though it’s obvious it wasn’t enough to completely stamp out the fear since that’s what’s believed to be the most basal and strongest emotion of them all. Which unfortunately probably worked in their favor as far as keeping all their ‘operatives’ obedient. You can’t exert any kind of control over someone who doesn’t fear you at least a little bit, even if they’re not fully aware of it.”

“Christ, these people are _seriously_ fucked up,” Louis mutters. “ _This whole situation_ is fucked up.”

Sarah shrugs and nods. “Yeah, it is, there’s no denying that. But the brain’s a bit of a miraculous thing though, you know? It has this amazing potential to heal itself and find a way to bounce back from even the worst kind of trauma. I mean, from how he describes this…‘procedure’ or whatever it was that they did, that kind of direct trauma to the brain, that kind of constant damage being inflicted and repeated over and over again for so long, forcing the brain to constantly rewire itself…it’s the sort of the thing that would probably take most people _years_ to recover from, if they _ever_ did. But, I mean, he heals quickly, right? Quicker than a normal person?”

Liam nods and Sarah leans back against the counter, glancing over at Twelve again.

“My guess is whatever they did to him to block off his access to those parts of his brain is starting to wear off. And, the strain of being constantly surrounded by and exposed to familiar, or once-familiar stimuli—in this case mainly you, Liam, but also his family—that’s had an effect. Everything he knows about you and his family from _before_ is probably heavily intertwined with old memories and emotions his brain’s struggling to reconnect with, and it’s very possible that all of that could be causing whatever they did to him to wear off even faster. As he tells it, this procedure he underwent happened every year, which means the effects probably usually only lasted around a year before they started to wear off. But he’s only been with you, what? Six months?”

“Five, actually,” Liam corrects, pausing a moment to take in everything she’s just said. “But are—are you saying that you think it’s possible for him to…remember? To get those memories back? Everything they took from him?”

She nods. “In time, yeah. I’d even go a step past possible and say inevitable. I don’t know about _all_ of his memories per se, but definitely a good amount.” She holds a hand up when she sees Liam start to grin excitedly, shaking her head. “I know this might sound like good news, but it’s not all roses and daises and I have a feeling things are gonna start happening a lot faster than you’re prepared for. Especially with the progress you say he’s made so far, in my _semi_ -professional opinion, it won’t be too much longer before the metaphorical dam breaks and when it does you need to be ready.”

“What do you mean?” Liam says, suddenly apprehensive.

“I mean that if things go the way I’m thinking they might, all of this is gonna hit him like a brick. _All of it_. All the emotions, all the memories, all the _guilt_. I mean, we’re talking mood swings, disorientation, nightmares, vivid flashbacks, violent outbursts, possibly even catatonia—the works. Basically all of the worst parts of PTSD in their most extreme form—not that any part of PTSD is positive, but you get what I mean.”

Liam swallows, nodding as he runs a hand through his hair anxiously. “Is there…is there anything I can do?”

Sarah looks at him sadly. “Honestly? I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but there’s not really much you _can_ do in this kind of situation besides just being there for him, especially not without some sort of outside intervention. I mean, this is something that his brain is just going to have work through on its own, in its own time, you know? That’s how PTSD works, there’s not a whole lot you can do _while_ they’re going through it except to make them more comfortable and support them— _him_ as best you all can. I see this kind of thing all the time so trust me when I tell you that it’s gonna be messy and it’s gonna be hard and there are gonna be bad days and worse days, but all you can do is take it one day at a time. Unfortunately for him, with all that he’s been through it’s probably gonna be worse than most, but with the right kind of support he will get through it.

“You should know though that just from what I’ve seen in the time I’ve been here, I think it might already be starting to happen. He seems to already be showing some symptoms of the early stages. I mean, the staring is one thing, and from what you all, and him as well, have told me I think I understand pretty well why he does it. But those moments where he looks like he’s sort of in a trance, like not really all here? Those are signs of flashbacks, _classic_ PTSD symptoms. And you’ve said yourself he has nightmares even if he’s unwilling or unable to identify them as that. I know it might start to seem like he’s getting better once he starts to remember, but trust me, when it comes to PTSD you learn _really_ quick to expect the unexpected. Remembering seems good until you realize that to remember the good, you also have to remember the bad, and there’s going to be _a lot_ of bad. Just try your best to hold on to the good as much as you can and stay positive. For his sake and for yours.”

Liam takes in a deep breath, exhales it and sips at his beer. He’d known that whatever her evaluation yielded it probably wouldn’t be all good, but he’d hoped they were out of the woods as far as the most extensive part of the healing process. He’d only just reached the point where he’d stopped letting himself hope that Twelve might ever remember anything from before. Now that he knows there’s a chance though it feels bittersweet because while there’s a possibility that Twelve could eventually come back to himself, to the person he once was, to get there he’ll have to relive _everything_. He’ll have to relive all the horrible things he’s done and had done to him and Liam wishes he could take it all away. Block out the bad and only leave with him with the good, so that he wouldn’t have to go through any of it again even if it is only in his mind this time.

It’s not fair, that he should still have to suffer through it all over and over again even to heal. It’s like even in his death the Director still finds ways to torture Twelve, to torment him with vile and horrible memories that will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. He shouldn’t _get_ to have that. He doesn’t deserve even an ounce of Twelve’s energy, doesn’t deserve to be even a speck in the sea of his thoughts, and he shouldn’t get to have that kind of hold, that kind of power over Twelve even in death. But he does and there’s nothing Liam can do about it.

For now he tries to follow Sarah’s advice and just focus on the positive as much as he can, enjoy the rest of the night with her and Twelve and the lads and relish in the moment while things are still good.

For all that Sarah warns him though he still isn’t prepared. Even though he knows objectively that things are about to get way worse, he has no idea just how much worse until it actually starts to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos feed my soul so feel free to leave them if you're so inclined! :)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man...feeling like I'm constantly apologizing for my terribly intermittent updating, and I know it doesn't really do much as far as making up for the wait but again I'm so so sorry, hopefully you enjoy this chapter and aren’t too mad at me?

_Zayn_

It is becoming increasingly harder for Twelve to hold a firm grasp on the present. He drifts back and forth between memory and reality so quickly and frequently he is sometimes unsure of the difference between what is in his mind and what is real anymore.

He wakes in a sweat in his bunk, surrounded by a room full of sleeping operatives, the pale blue of the early morning sky visible through the window next to him. And then he blinks and he is back in bed with Liam, staring down at his sleeping form in confusion. He lays back down and he is in the middle of a visit, a man’s tall form looming over him on the bed. He opens his eyes and it is only the expanse of Liam’s ceiling that greets him. He turns and he is in the middle of a mission, hidden under an office desk as he lay on his side drenched in his target’s blood waiting for the rest of his security personnel to enter so he can pick them off one by one from a secure vantage point. He blinks again and he is back in Liam’s bed, in Liam’s clothes, clean and dry with nothing in front of him but the long stretch of Liam’s back.

When he sleeps it is in fits and starts, drifting in and out of consciousness. He dreams of places he has never been, hazy images and disjointed, distant sounds blurring together. A house, small and unremarkable, nondescript, the sound of children shouting and laughing from somewhere within, light footsteps on a hardwood floor. A building, low and wide with a large courtyard and long corridors, full of children with nondescript faces, rows of short rectangular tables and chairs arranged neatly and evenly spaced apart. Strange booklets filled with even stranger pictures, glossy pages covered in brightly-colored ink filled with images of people in strange forms of dress, masks and cloaks.

Weeks pass like this and his symptoms only grow worse.

Once he blinks to find himself in the middle of the kitchen stabbing a knife into thin air. Just a moment before he had been carving away the skin of a woman’s back to coerce her into revealing the location of his primary target. Now he stands in the middle of the small space, knife in hand, wondering how he came to be there.

“Twelve?” Liam calls, stepping out of his bedroom and rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing out of—” He stops in place when he sees Twelve standing there, knife still in hand, reflexes not fast enough to allow him to put it away before being seen while in this odd half-conscious state between dreaming and waking. He stares at Liam, feeling as if he is trapped in some sort of haze for some time before alertness finally takes over and he returns the knife to its resting place.

Once it has been put away Liam comes over to him slowly, lays a hand on his back and guides him gently back to bed.

“I am sorry,” he says to Liam, for waking him and for frightening him because he knows now that neither are considered acceptable behavior.

“It’s okay,” he says as they lay back down. “Just try to sleep, okay? I know it’s hard, but just try for me.”

Twelve tries. Liam wants him to and so Twelve tries, but it is more of the same—fits and starts and confusing sounds and images that he cannot make sense of, memories of missions and of the bunker that never seem to end. When he is asleep he is not asleep, when he is awake he is not awake, a strange paradox that is even stranger yet to experience.

The days and weeks seem to blur together until he finds himself losing sense of how much time has passed. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, he does not know the difference anymore, they all seem to blur together until he is no longer sure whether a minute has passed or a month, an hour or a week. It is a strange sensation to no longer be aware of that which he was once hyper aware of and he does not know whether it is good or bad to no longer be constrained by time but also to no longer have awareness of it. He supposes an argument could be made for either but it does not really matter as it is no longer integral to his mission.

 _Remember_.

That is what he must do.

That is his only mission now. The passage of time is not as central a factor so long as he completes the mission. Remember Liam. Remember before. Before the bunker and the program. Remember himself. His other life. The other him. His family. _Remember_.

*

Liam is introducing new protocols and Twelve is trying as hard as he can to pay attention, to keep himself grounded in the present instead of getting lost in another memory, but it is proving rather difficult. He only catches bits of pieces of what Liam is saying at first but fortunately it is enough to get an understanding of why this sudden change is taking place. Harry is visiting his family for the week and there will be no one to monitor Twelve while Liam is away at work. He will have to provide for himself while Liam is gone.

“…I’ll still make you breakfast, but for lunch you’ll be here on your own. I got you a bunch of ready-made meals that I’ve stacked up here in this cupboard. All you have to do is follow the instructions on the back of the label. Like, for example, this one here…” he pauses as he takes one of the containers off the shelf, “says to put it in the microwave for…three minutes. So all you have to do is take the wrapping and the cardboard part off or if it’s in a box like some of the other ones, take it out of the box, and just put it in the microwave for three minutes or however long it tells you to. If you need to get out silverware, plates or bowls or anything you know where they are. I know you’ve seen me get them out a million times—and you certainly know where the _knives_ are, though you shouldn’t need them.”

Liam smiles briefly before turning back to the other side of the counter and picking up Harry’s iPad. “Harry’s gonna be leaving you his iPad so if you need to reach either one of us for anything or if you get confused about something and need help or have a question, you can reach either one of us on here through this app called iMessage, it’s this one here with the blue bubble and the little dots underneath. Harry already made a group chat with me and him on it so if you send something we’ll both see it and one of us will respond as soon as we can. Just click on this box at the top with both our names on it,” he says, pointing for emphasis. “It also has games and Youtube, they’re all in the same folder in this little box here. The red one with the white triangle is Youtube, you can click on it and watch videos like you do with Harry sometimes. The rest are games, I can show you how to play some of them if you’re interested, but between the two they should keep you pretty occupied along with the telly. This icon here in the corner is the battery, if it turns red that means the battery’s about to die and you need to plug it in with the cord you’ve seen Harry use. When it gets full again like it is now you can unplug it. If you’re using an app and you need to get back to this screen with all the icons on it just press this button here on the bottom. All clear?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. So, today’s just gonna be a test day to make sure you’ll be okay when I’m gone and get you used to how things are gonna go. I’ve got some stuff I need to get done for work so I’ll be in my room working on that most of the day, but you’ll basically just be pretending like I’m not here. Telly’s all yours, you can keep it on or off or flip to whatever channel you feel like whenever you feel like. You can play around on the iPad or sit and write in your journal, whatever you feel like doing. When lunchtime comes around you can heat up your own food, or not, if you’re not hungry, it’s up to you. If you have any questions or get confused about anything feel free to come and ask me anytime because after today you’ll only be able to talk to me via the iPad while I’m gone. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“No.”

“Okay, well you know where to find me if you need me,” he says, smiling and turning on his heel to head back to his room.

Twelve takes the iPad and sits on the couch staring down at it, then up at the television. Liam wants him to make a choice but how can he when it is not his place to do so? Or is he to understand that this is another protocol that no longer applies here, like eating civilian food or asking questions without being prompted first even though it is not in his place to do so? Is this another exception? Another civilian skill he is being made to learn that operatives should not know? If so, how is he to use it? How is he to know which is the right choice if Liam does not tell him?

This must be a test.

He does not know what will happen if he makes the wrong decision, but such is the risk he must take to learn this particular skill, and if he is wrong he is prepared to face the consequences.

He opts to watch videos on Youtube and practice his laughter at the parts he supposes Harry would find funny as he waits for Liam to come assess him. But lunchtime passes and Liam still does not come. Twelve does as he was instructed and prepares lunch for himself, noting that even though the label reads Chicken Alfredo the meal does not taste as full of flavor as when Harry makes it.

More hours pass and Liam still does not emerge but Twelve knows that civilians require steadier amounts of nutrients than operatives do and it would not be beneficial for Liam to fall ill. So when it reaches the halfway point between lunchtime and dinnertime and Liam still has not emerged, Twelve prepares a meal for Liam himself. He does not know if this is acceptable behavior as it was not a decision Liam asked him to make, unlike the previous one, but again he is prepared to face the consequences if need be.

He knocks before entering because he has learned that that is considered the polite and acceptable thing to do, and waits for Liam to answer.

“You can come in,” Liam calls and Twelve steps through the half-open doorway, bowl of Thai chili noodles in hand and places it on Liam’s desk next to his computer. Liam stops typing to blink down at the bowl and then up and Twelve.

“Oh,” he says sounding a little startled. “Christ, I didn’t even realize how late it had gotten.” He looks down at the bowl again, brow furrowed, before he looks back up at Twelve. “You…you made this for _me_?”

“Yes.”

Liam smiles, shakes his head a little, still looking a bit disoriented. “Wow. Thank you, that’s, um, that’s really nice of you.”

“You are welcome.”

“Have you, um…have you been okay out there on your own?” he says, nodding back toward the door.

“Yes. I am watching Youtube.” He studies Liam as he says this, trying to gauge his reaction but Liam just smiles again.

“That’s great! And making lunch went okay? Well, obviously, I mean, you did make me this,” he says, answering his own question. “But after today you think you’ll be okay on your own for the week?”

“Yes.”

Liam lets out a relieved sounding sigh and nods a little to himself. “Good, that’s really good. You have no idea how much I was freaking out about leaving you all alone. I wish I didn’t have to but the number of days I can keep taking off for ‘family emergencies’ and random illnesses I don’t actually have is kind of limited. Anyway, I’m just glad to know you’ll be okay…and thanks again for the food.”

He smiles, nodding toward the bowl beside him and Twelve says again, “You are welcome,” before turning and going back out to the living room. Perhaps there is no wrong choice after all. Perhaps they are both right and that was the lesson.

*

Twelve has begun to shower himself now, another new protocol Liam introduced shortly after the others. It is strange, learning to do something himself that he is so accustomed to having _done_ to him. It is not like the other things he has learned, things he had no reference for or memory of doing. _This_ he has memory of and it seems improper to defy that former protocol now when it is all he has ever known, even more improper than speaking without first being addressed or consuming civilian food. It is a foreign sensation, washing himself, and he cannot help but think that with each new thing he learns he becomes further and further removed from the operative he is, changing into something else. It does not seem right. It is not the order of things, it is not how operatives are supposed to conduct themselves. But it is protocol now just like the others and he must adjust. He must obey. He must _remember_.

That is his only mission now.

Everything new that he learns is meant to aide him in that mission, at least that is what Liam tells him. He does not understand it, but then that was never his purpose. His purpose was to follow orders, to serve, to complete missions without question. He has never failed to complete a mission before and he does not intend for this to be the outlier. Whatever new concept he must understand, he will study it until he does; whatever new task he must learn, he will learn. Failure is not an option. He _must_ remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated (if you're not too mad/upset/frustrated by the wait to leave them?)
> 
> (Also I'm contemplating making something of a collection of spin-off drabbles at some point in the future featuring Twelve's ipad conversations with Liam and Harry as something fun and light-hearted to accompany this dark, angsty, emotional whirlpool of a fic lol, if that's something any of you guys would be interested in let me know in the comments)


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A&E = Accident and Emergency, the British equivalent of the ER (Emergency Room)

_Liam_

Things have gotten monumentally easier since Twelve started learning to do more and more things on his own. Over the last few weeks Liam’s been steadily introducing new rules to help Twelve become a little more independent, a little more like his own person and less like a robot that needs to be constantly monitored and told what to do all the time. They’ve gotten to the point where Twelve now showers, dresses, and brushes his teeth all on his own, makes his own tea and even makes his own lunch and breakfast—though only things he doesn’t need to cook or that are relatively quick and easy to make. Liam’s still wary of letting him shave by himself, too afraid that he might accidentally skin himself until he learns how to temper his own strength a little better. But progress is progress and Liam sometimes still finds himself surprised that they’ve even come this far in just a few months.

He knows that things aren’t likely to stay this good, constantly wary of Sarah’s warnings in the back of his mind, but he’s also been doing his best to follow her advice and focus on the good while he can. He’s gotten better at recognizing when Twelve is in the middle of a dissociative episode, as Sarah calls them, and talking him back into the present when he can. But he can’t shake the feeling that something worse is coming. Weeks have passed without any major change and Liam can’t help feeling on edge, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sarah had said things would get worse before they got better and he keeps waiting for the worse to come so they can get through it and get to the better part, but it doesn’t. And so after a while he starts to let his guard down, and predictably that’s when the shit hits the fan.

It’s three days after Christmas when Twelve wakes up screaming and Liam nearly has a heart attack as he jolts awake, confused and disoriented and not at all prepared for any of what’s happening.

Twelve is curled into himself on the bed, eyes squeezed shut, sweating and screaming in agony as he grips at his head and Liam has no idea what to do.

“Twelve?” he tries, placing a shaky hand on his shoulder but that only makes him flinch and scream louder and Liam rips his hand away as quickly as he can. He backs away trying to give him some space but then scoots in close again a moment later, careful not to touch him but making sure Twelve knows that he’s close, that he’s _here_ , in case that’s what he needs right now.

“Twelve, it’s Liam. I’m here. I’m right here, okay?”

He has no idea if Twelve can even hear him, if he’s even aware of where he is or what’s going on right now, but he has to try.

“I’m right here. You’re safe. Just try to focus on the sound of my voice, try to remember where you are. I’m right here with you, I’m gonna stay right here with you, okay? Whatever you need…”

Twelve writhes and on the bed, letting out agonizing screams and Liam feels helpless, has no idea how he can help without making things worse. His only coherent thought outside of his rapidly growing panic is to call for help and before he can even fully process what he’s doing he’s dialing Sarah’s number. Predictably she’s the complete opposite of her usual calm and collected self when she first hears the screams through the phone as Liam stammers his way through an explanation, which really isn’t much of an explanation at all considering he has no idea what the hell is happening himself. He tries his best not to sound completely hysterical but he’s pretty sure he fails if Sarah’s overly soothing tone is any indication. The minute he stops anxiously rambling long enough for her to get a word in she switches into caretaker mode, voice going soft and gentle in an effort to calm him down a little. It doesn’t help. Not when he can see and hear how much pain Twelve is in knowing there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Sarah’s voice goes distant for a moment and he can hear her begging out of the rest of her shift at the coffee shop for a “family emergency” and then she’s back on the line trying to soothe him again, sounding slightly out of breath as she rushes to her car. He hears the rumble of the engine starting in the background as she promises to round up the others and be over as soon as she can and then she’s hanging up and Liam is on his own again.

He wipes at his face roughly even though there’s no one around to see him crying. Then he just scoots down so his face is level with Twelve’s and tries to keep talking to him as calmly as he can, grateful that at least most of the neighbors are gone for the holidays and aren’t around to overhear any of this.

Minutes pass and it feels like hours but there’s not much Liam can do except lay with Twelve and try his best to be a calming presence, which is ironic considering the state he was in on the phone only a short while ago when the shoe was on the other foot.

After a while Twelve’s voice starts to run ragged and eventually he falls silent though it’s clear he’s still in pain from the way he continues to twist and writhe and thrash back and forth, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Liam just keeps talking him through it, trying his best to remain a soothing presence though it doesn’t really seem to be working very well, but he can’t just do nothing while Twelve lies there in pain; at least this way he feels somewhat useful. He babbles on about nothing in particular, keeping his voice soft and even like Sarah did with him, reassuring Twelve that he’s safe, that he’s here, that Liam won’t leave him, but still Twelve shows no signs of whatever this is letting up anytime soon. He twists and struggles almost as if he’s fighting against something invisible, pushing against some imaginary thing holding him down, face a mask of pain.

And then suddenly he just stops, going completely still and lying flat on his back, blinking his eyes open and staring straight up at the ceiling unseeing. As if he’s somewhere else entirely.

“Twelve, Twelve, Twelve, Twelve, Twelve, Twelve,” he repeats over and over again like a mantra.

“Hey,” Liam says gently, sitting up and laying a tentative hand on Twelve’s shoulder again. “Twelve, it’s me, it’s Liam. I’m right here. Can you hear me?”

Twelve doesn’t react, doesn’t even flinch this time, just lays there staring up at the ceiling—staring _through_ the ceiling like it’s not even there—repeating his name over and over again like a broken record. Like a broken robot.

Liam didn’t even think it was possible but somehow he feels even more helpless than before. Whatever this is it’s getting _worse_. At least before Twelve was reacting, seemed aware of _something_. Now he doesn’t even seem _human_. Staring up with blank eyes, even more devoid of life now than when he first came here, unmoving, unresponsive, nothing but the monotone sound of his name being repeated over and over to even signal he’s conscious.

He has no idea how much time passes like this, it feels like hours, but by the time Sarah comes waltzing through his door with Niall, Harry, and Louis in tow brandishing the spare key that for once is actually being used in an emergency, he’s worked himself into a good and certifiable panic all over again.

Twelve still hasn’t stopped the mantra and as they crowd into his bedroom Harry, Niall, and Louis all look about as freaked out as Liam feels. Sarah’s the only one who appears relatively calm and when she sees the state both he and Twelve are in she gently herds the others back out into the living room and shuts the bedroom door behind them. She ambles over to Liam’s side of the bed and lays gentle hands on his shoulders, bending down so they’re at the same eye level, and tells him to just breathe until he feels okay enough to explain what happened, but Liam just shakes his head miserably.

“I don’t know, I don’t know. I tried talking to him and just staying next to him so he’d know I was here, but then _this_ started and now he won’t respond to anything at all and I’m freaking out. I don’t even know if he can hear me or if he knows where he is or anything and it sounds like he’s… _resetting_ or something and I’m just…I’m _scared_.” The last part comes out as a half broken whisper, half sob but he doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

“I know.” Sarah says softly, nodding and glancing grimly at Twelve’s prone form on the bed. “I am too, but if we’re gonna figure this out we need to be as level-headed as possible. Panicking won’t do him or us any good right now, so I need you to try and pull it together, just for now, okay? You can scream and cry and shout obscenities at the walls later but right now I need you here with me, _he_ needs you here.”

Liam nods and Sarah drops her hands, taking a breath as she stands back up, and for the first time Liam notices she has a backpack on. She shrugs it off her shoulders as she explains, “I asked Niall to pack up some of my med supplies before I picked him up from the flat but he didn’t know which ones I meant so he just threw everything he could find into a backpack with both of the first aid kits from the flat and the car. I swear sometimes he takes over-prepared to a whole new level.” She shakes her head, smiling a little as she pulls out what she needs. “I’m just going to check his vitals and see if there’s anything out of the ordinary that we might need to be worried about.”

Liam nods, settling back in by Twelve’s side and watching on while Sarah goes through her check-up. Twelve is still completely unresponsive, just continues muttering and staring up at nothing as Sarah examines him and Liam tries his best not to let it get to him. He watches her go through the motions, listening to his heartbeat, checking his breathing, taking his blood pressure, and checking his eyes with a tiny little flashlight.

“So his breathing seems relatively normal,” she says once she’s done, “but his heart rate and blood pressure are extremely elevated and his pupils are dilated. To be fair, I don’t know what his stats are normally like so it’s very possible that this is just his normal. But if not, if his normal is anywhere near the average person’s…” Sarah trails off, shaking her head, “right now I think it might be best to just wait it out. Whatever he’s going through may need to just run its course, but if it goes on for more than another couple hours we may need to consider taking him to the A&E.”

“Fuck,” Liam breathes, running a hand through his hair anxiously as he glances down at Twelve.

“Hey, look at me,” Sarah says softly, waiting until Liam meets her eyes to continue, “you’re doing an amazing job, okay? None of this is easy and there’s no right way to handle any of it, but you’re doing great.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he says, looking pointedly back down at Twelve.

“I know it might not right now, but trust me you are, especially from what I’ve seen just in these past few weeks. And I can’t tell you what’s gonna happen or what kind of state he’s gonna be in when he comes out of this but I can tell you that whatever happens it isn’t on you. You’re doing the best you can in a seriously messed up situation, and I know it’s hard but you can’t blame yourself for every little thing—or big thing—that goes wrong. We’re kind of in uncharted territory here. My guess is there are gonna be weird things happening all around while his brain tries to work through all the trauma he’s faced. You just have to try to remember that it’s no one’s fault but the people who did this to him.”

Liam sighs. “I know. I just wish there was more I could do. I feel so useless when it comes to him sometimes. Especially now, with this…whatever _this_ is.”

Sarah smiles a little sadly and nods. “If it makes you feel any better so do I, to be honest. I don’t think even the most experienced person could be prepared for any of this so there’s no need to beat yourself up.”

Liam pulls his knees up to his chest, sighing as he stares down at Twelve’s unseeing eyes and Sarah stands, packing her things up quietly.

“I’m gonna go give the lads an update,” she says when she’s done.

Liam nods, but keeps his eyes on Twelve as she exits, the door snicking closed softly behind her.

Harry comes in a little while later.

“Hey,” he says softly as he steps gingerly into the room. “Still no change?”

Liam shakes his head.

Harry shuffles up to the edge of the bed, peering down at Twelve forlornly. “Lou and Niall are making tea and sandwiches for you and him, for when he wakes up I mean.”

Liam bites his lip afraid to voice what he’s thinking but feeling like he needs to. “What if he doesn’t?” and he doesn’t mean for it to but his voice comes out sounding small and broken.

“He will,” Harry says firmly. “He’s a fighter, even if he doesn’t know it yet. Whatever it is he’s going through now it can’t be much worse than what he’s already been through, right?”

Liam doesn’t answer. He can’t help worrying that it _is_. He can’t help worrying period. For all he knows Twelve could be trapped inside his own head reliving a thousand instances of torture right now. He’s trying his best to stay calm and hopeful and levelheaded like Sarah said but it feels impossible.

There’s a soft knock at the door then and sure enough a moment later Louis and Niall come in brandishing steaming mugs full of tea and little saucers piled high with tea biscuits and triangular slices of bread and jam, Sarah trailing behind them.

“For when he wakes up,” Louis says, setting a plate and mug down on the nightstand on Twelve’s side of the bed.

Niall goes to hand Liam his but Liam shakes his head. He’s not really in the mood to eat anything right now. He really appreciates them all being here with him though, even though he can tell how uncomfortable the boys are seeing Twelve like this. It makes him feel just a little bit calmer knowing he doesn’t have to deal with all this alone despite how he’d desperately tried to at first when this all started.

It’s pretty much just a waiting game at this point but sitting idle and helpless while the seconds and minutes tick ever so slowly by is agonizing and it’s driving him mad with worry. Niall and Louis try to distract him with jokes as much as they can. It doesn’t really help but he’s grateful for it all the same. Harry just keeps trying to reassure him and he sounds so sure of himself that Liam wants to believe him but he can’t help the small sliver of doubt that seems to have settled itself in the pit of his stomach. Sarah checks Twelve’s vitals a few more times but there’s nothing more than an incremental change, just a normal slight fluctuation in pulse, she says, nothing that’s enough to indicate any significant change.

Nearly an hour passes like this before Twelve suddenly goes quiet.

The shift in tension in the room is palpable and everyone goes still, all of them on edge as Twelve slowly comes back to himself, blinking up at Liam and then sitting up to look around the room at them all, cocking his head in confusion.

“Have I done something wrong?” he says to Liam.

“No, no, nothing wrong,” Liam says trying to keep calm, levelheaded, keep his voice even. “You just, um…you had a bit of an…episode. You…you woke up screaming, like you were in pain, and then you just kept repeating your name over and over. You don’t remember?”

Twelve blinks at him. “It was not a dream?”

“No,” Liam says slowly, looking at him concernedly. “Did it feel like one?”

“Yes.” Twelve pauses. “No.” Another pause. “I do not know.”

“Do you…do you have any idea why it might’ve happened?”

Twelve stares at Liam for a long time and Liam resolves himself to not getting an answer, but then Twelve looks down at himself, at the others in the room, and then back to Liam.

“I think I am broken,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter proved to be a much bigger challenge than I anticipated because I didn’t want Twelve’s transition to feel too rushed (even though I’m still kind of worried that it did anyway) and I rewrote it like 589528593 times but I couldn’t really figure out a good way to draw it out any more in a way that didn’t feel forced and I also felt like I’d made you guys wait long enough so *shrugs* here we are…
> 
> Also, things are gonna start moving a lot faster from now on so get ready for this emotional rollercoaster to take some serious dips and turns! We are about to go upside down, loopdy loop, and straight up and down at super sonic speeds through dark tunnels and fiery volcanoes of FEEEEEELINGSSSS!!!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this damn thing is now over 100k (wtf am I doing with my life???). This is officially the longest thing I have ever written and I am flailing. I’ve never written anything more than 20k in my entire life so this is completely uncharted territory for me and I honestly don’t know how to handle it like initially I never even saw this going past like 50k so it is WILD that I’m even this far and there’s still SO MUCH LEFT TO GET TO UGH WHAT AM I DOING I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE but the ideas just keep coming and it just keeps getting longer and longer (I'm probably gonna end up splitting it into two parts just fyi) and I’m just like whyyy stop it brain I need sleep and food and to actually leave the vicinity of my computer for more than thirty seconds at a time, but anyway I digress from my mindless rambling, now onto what you came here for (enjoy!)...

_Zayn_

Twelve does not know how to explain to Liam that something is wrong. There is something inside of him that is not supposed to be there, something that he does not know how to describe, or many things. They overwhelm him, taking over his thoughts, making him feel things he should not be able to and he does not understand why.

He had thought the pain a dream, another memory intertwining itself with the present, but he was wrong. He should have known, but it had felt so much like his first Procedure, though the pain was not nearly as great in this instance, that he mistook it for another vivid memory-turned-dream. Now that he is awake and fully aware of himself he can feel _it_. _It_ taints everything. Everything he sees, everything he knows, everything he remembers, is marred with _it_ now.

Liam is watching him and he does not like the way it makes him feel. He should not _feel_ anything, but therein lies the problem.

_Operatives do not have likes or dislikes._

_Operatives do not experience emotion._

“I…I need to be fixed,” he says, looking at Liam and then at the others around the room, but his voice does not sound like it should, it does not sound like _his_. He hears pain, he hears fear, he hears sadness, but he does not feel those things, he is not capable of feeling those things.

Liam’s eyes are wide now and his gaze darts from Twelve to Sarah and then back again. Twelve hears a sharp intake of breath from Louis, but otherwise the room is silent.

He does not understand. He does not know what is happening to him. He does not know how to stop it, how to fix it, if it even _can_ be fixed. What if he is beyond repair? What if it has been too long since his last Procedure and he can never be fixed?

His breathing is elevated. He does not know how to stop it. Is this what termination feels like? He does not know whether to fight it or let it come.

“Hey, no, you’re okay. You’re okay,” Liam says, reaching out to rub his hands over Twelve’s arms. “You’re not broken. You don’t need to be fixed. You’re just going through something that might be a little hard for you to understand right now.”

Liam has never lied to him and Twelve can hear from his steady heartbeat that he is not lying now, but it does not make sense. What Liam is saying cannot be right. Operatives should not be capable of emotion. How can he not be broken when he feels things he should not be able to?

_Operatives do not have likes or dislikes._

_Operatives do not experience emotion._

He knows these things yet he cannot reconcile them with what he is experiencing now. He cannot turn it off and he cannot stop himself from feeling now that he has begun.

“Hey, look at me, I know you might be feeling really scared and probably all sorts of other things right now,” Liam says, “but it’s okay. _You’re_ okay. You’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you. And no one’s going to fix you because you don’t need to be fixed. You’re not broken, you’re _healing_.”

Scared. Yes, that word fits. He has never known what it is to be scared, to fear for something, but now he understands. He understands the desperation, the panic, the need to escape from it. He does not want to feel this way any longer.

“How do I make it stop?”

Liam looks at him sadly. “You can’t. It’s a part of you. You just…learn to live with it, and find things that you make you feel good instead of bad.”

Twelve tries to make sense of Liam’s words, but he cannot. He does not understand how to do what Liam is saying. He does not know what it means to feel good. It is not something he has ever had to consider before, but if what Liam says is true, if this is what he must live with now, then he supposes he will have to learn.

*

The emotions filter in slowly, in brief increments at first that grow longer and more intense with the passage of time, but this does not make it any easier to acclimate to what have until now always been nothing more than foreign concepts to him.

Twelve finally understands now what civilians mean when they say that something is “much easier said than done.” Learning to live with this change is not easy. It is not like a mission where he knows his task and knows exactly what parameters must be carried out in order to complete it. There is no simple task he can do to bring about an end to this. And yet he cannot shake the feeling of wrongness that envelops him. Everything feels wrong. Everything that he does, everything that he _has_ done, feels wrong now.

He has the strange to urge to fight it even though it is not a physical thing. Liam tells him this is what anger feels like. He does not like how anger feels. He does not want to feel it but it is a thing that cannot be controlled, a thing that does not _want_ to be controlled. It is strange thinking of an emotion as having desires but there is no other way to explain it. It seems a thing almost independent of him, a thing that drives him even against his will, taking control, ruling in favor of its own motives in spite of him, in spite of his attempts not to let it take over.

Anger is one thing. Anger he can battle, at least that is something he is used to, something that is familiar, fighting. But sadness he detests even more. It is a sneaky thing. Anger roars and rages, comes upon him abruptly, but at least with it he has some sort of warning, however sudden it may be. Sadness is the opposite. It winds its way into his mind slowly and quietly, takes hold so gradually that by the time he learns to recognize it for what it is, it is too late. And even recognition, once he has learned how, does not make it any easier to manage. It is still just as cunning and unsuspecting in its onset, and so powerful at times it feels as if it will consume him and there will be nothing left but the sadness, the despair. But eventually it fades just as gradually as it came.

Fear is the only thing that is near constant. He feels it now when he wakes from dreams of the bunker, of Discipline Sessions and Procedures, time with visitors and Handlers, the Director. He feels it when he is awake, during “flashbacks” as Liam calls them, in the mornings when Liam leaves for work, in the evenings when he does not return at the time he says he will. Twelve does not like fear either, nor does he like the emotions that often accompany it, the panic, the desperation, the helplessness. But the constant nature of it means he has no choice but to learn to live with it. It is a part of him now that cannot be removed or suppressed no matter how hard he tries. Harry says that he must learn to channel it all into other things, find new things to focus on that make him feel safe and happy instead, more concepts that he does not understand though he tries.

The days are much harder now, as is sleep. Most nights he is afraid to even close his eyes. But simply knowing that Liam is sleeping soundly beside him helps somehow. He cannot explain it, why it calms him. Perhaps it is the certainty the knowledge provides, or perhaps it is knowing that if Liam can sleep soundly maybe he can learn to as well. Or perhaps it is something else still. Maybe this is the feeling of safety Harry has told him about. He does not know. There are so many things he still does not understand, a transcendent uncertainty that now extends even to himself. But he supposes in time he will learn. For now it seems this is simply another thing he will have to learn to live with.

*

Twelve wakes in the middle of the night in a sweat but for once it is not from a “bad” dream. In fact, he does not remember dreaming at all, but he is acutely aware of the heavy weight between his legs. Liam is still asleep despite Twelve’s rather abrupt movement and he takes the opportunity to slip quietly across to the closet.

He wonders if perhaps his presence has a similar calming effect on Liam as Liam’s does for him because only a few minutes later Liam wakes, blinking blearily down at the bed. This time the closet is the second place he checks after stepping briefly out into the living room.

“Hey,” he says softly when he opens the door, crouching down so that he’s eye level with Twelve. “What are you doing in here? It’s the middle of the night, you should be sleeping…or trying to anyway.”

Twelve says nothing.

“D’you want to tell me what’s going on? Why you’re hiding in here?” Liam says, tone soft as he moves to sit opposite Twelve inside the closet.

Twelve stays silent. He tries his best to maintain control over his breathing but already he can hear his heart beating erratically as the fear and panic take hold. Liam starts to slide closer to him, reaching out a hand to touch him but before Twelve can restrain himself he flinches, pressing his back into the wall and pulling his knees tighter against his chest.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I won’t touch you,” Liam says slowly, hands raised and splayed wide as he moves back to the other side of the closet. “I’ll just sit here with you…is that okay?”

Liam pauses for only a moment before seeming to realize that no answer is forthcoming and settling back against the opposite wall.

Once settled, Liam sighs softly, looking Twelve in the eyes. It is a strain for him in the dark, Twelve knows, but he does it anyway.

“Look, I know—I know you’re not…ready or that you can’t explain to me yet what’s happening in these moments, why you feel like you have to hide, but I just…I just hope you know that I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Empty words.

Or perhaps not. Twelve cannot be sure. He cannot be sure of anything anymore.

The Director often made empty promises. But Twelve knows now that the Director was a liar, it was in his nature. The same cannot be said of Liam. At least not from what he has seen thus far.

They sit for hours, Liam fidgeting and occasionally dozing, Twelve remaining completely still, keeping himself carefully hidden behind his knees even long after the reaction has subsided. Extra precaution is always best in any situation, but especially these.

When the sun finally begins to rise, Twelve stands and makes his way out, heading to the kitchen to begin making himself breakfast. Liam joins him and, once they have eaten, starts to get ready for work even though Twelve can see that he is still tired. The fear comes back briefly, incessant in the forefront of his mind as he watches Liam gather up his things to leave and tries his best to maintain a neutral expression. Everyday it becomes increasingly easier to conceal but it is no easier to manage than the very first time he experienced it. He does not understand why it happens, what it is that makes him feel this way when Liam is simply doing what he has done nearly every day since Twelve first began observing him. But then he does not understand the cause of any of his emotional states most of the time. He simply knows that he feels them and that no matter what he does he cannot make any of the emotions go away or cease to feel them until they are ready to let him go.

Once Liam is gone, the sound of his car beyond Twelve’s range of hearing, it is the sadness that takes over, threatening to overwhelm him. He moves from the window, where he had been tracking the movement of Liam’s car as far as he physically could, and sinks to the couch, suddenly feeling very heavy.

He does not know how long he sits there, drawn into another one of those moments where time eludes him. His mind feels clouded, the world far away. The sounds of the traffic on the street below suddenly seem miles away instead of just a few hundred feet. Everything feels numb but for the ache in his head, a dull thing—or at least that is how it had started out—that now seems to grow stronger by the day, radiating out from the very center of his skull. He cannot seem to focus his gaze but he is distantly aware of his reflection in the television screen and he wonders if this has happened before, in his other life. Had he felt a pain like this then? Had it meant something? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But for some reason he cannot shake the feeling that something is coming. Like a thing that is trying to claw its way out. Or maybe many things. Maybe it is not the feeling itself that is familiar but the thing that will come after it. Though what that is he does not know. There is a part of him that reasons that maybe he should be afraid of it, of whatever it is that is coming, but the strange thing is that he is not. It is not a thing he can explain exactly, why he does not feel afraid of it despite it being just as unknown and as daunting as everything else he is experiencing of late. All he knows is that it does not make him feel angry or sad or afraid to know that it is coming, not like everything else.

A soft sound like a bell dinging brings him back to the present, everything around him suddenly coming sharply back into focus and he turns to the iPad sitting on the coffee table. A message has appeared on the screen and he picks it up, scanning over it. It is a message from Liam notifying him that Harry will be coming over shortly and asking if he is okay. He replies that he is fine, adding one of the pictures that Liam calls emojis on the end because Liam says people like them. He chooses one at random, an upside down cone-shaped image with small rectangular-shaped strips streaming out of it. It is yet another thing he cannot explain but lately he finds himself wanting to do things that Liam likes and he does not know why, has the strange but constant urge to please Liam beyond simply obeying orders as he used to. He does not know what it means any more than he knows why he is suddenly overcome with deep sadness at the recollection that Liam is not here.

The world has gone far away again, his mind foggy, his vision blurred. His reflection stares back at him from the blank television screen and through his hazy gaze he sees that he is shaking. When had that begun? Or had he always been? His face feels wet but he does not know when that happened either, or why. Had it been wet when Liam left? Before then? Had it been this way in the closet all those hours ago? He does not remember.

There is a sound behind him but it is far away. He is far away. Has he always been this far? Or is it everything else that is far? Or maybe it is Liam that has always been far? His chest hurts. Is it always this hard to breathe when Liam is not here? He cannot remember.

Arms wrap around him but they do not belong to Liam. He knows. He cannot see through the wet haze but he knows.

Liam is far away. Always far away and Twelve is empty. Maybe he has always been empty. Maybe there is nothing left. Nothing but this. Maybe there is nothing left for him to remember. Maybe there never was.

“I am sorry,” he whispers into Harry’s shoulder.

“What for?”

“I am malfunctioning.”

“You’re _crying_ ,” Harry corrects. “It’s normal. It’s good to have a good cry every once in a while. Healthy, even. Besides, I’m sure he misses you too when he’s away. Trust me, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Harry leans back to look him in the eyes. “You’re _healing_ , it’s a good thing, even if it may not feel like it just yet.”

They sit like that for a long while, Harry’s arms wrapped around him, and the physical sensation is nice. Harry is warm and his jumper is soft. He wonders if it would feel as nice to do this with Liam and finds that the thought does not make him as sad as it would have earlier. The crying has stopped, the fog in his mind beginning to clear, and it is no longer as difficult to breathe as it was earlier.

“Alright if I go put on the kettle?” Harry says softly.

“Yes.”

Harry stands, making his way over to the kitchen and Twelve listens to him move around, opening and closing cupboards and clanging silverware, as he stares out the window watching the clouds roll by and disappear behind the abandoned building. How strange, he thinks, to be sitting right here where Liam would have been, looking up at the place he used to watch Liam from all those months ago.

Harry comes back to the couch with two mugs, handing one to Twelve as he sits. Twelve takes a sip and turns to Harry in confusion.

Harry laughs. “It’s hot cocoa. Figured the occasion called for it. Liam told me on my way over that you’d had a rough morning but I…well, I wasn’t quite expecting to find you the way I did.” He taps at his mug, a more serious expression on his face as he turns to Twelve. “Does that happen often? When Liam leaves?”

“Yes.”

“All the time or just sometimes?”

“Sometimes.”

“But more often than not?”

Twelve takes a moment to think, reflecting on all of the instances he can recall and tallying them all before answering. “Yes.”

Harry nods, staring down at his own cup of cocoa for a while before taking a sip.

They sit in silence, Twelve continuing to watch the clouds out of the window as he sips at his cocoa. The flavor is rich, much more so than tea, and he finds he likes it. He likes the way it smells, the velvety feel of it in his mouth, and the way the flavor lingers on his tongue even long after he has swallowed. When it is finished he feels warm and sleepy and he settles back into the couch, unable to keep his eyes from slipping closed for long.

When he dreams it is of Liam. Twelve is back in the bath, the warm water surrounding him, and Liam is watching him with a strange look on his face. No, not strange. Familiar. Twelve recognizes it, has seen it countless times on the faces of Visitors. Desire. But something about it is different. The dream morphs, the scene before him changing and suddenly he is in an alley, tucked into the shadows of a fire escape landing waiting for his target to return home to his flat. He hears a rustle and turns to find a stray cat darting out of the dumpster, following something much smaller. He tracks the thing with his eyes, noting the unmistakable scent of blood as he realizes what it is. The rat scurries ahead as quickly as it can but appears slowed by its wound. The cat slashes as it, mostly missing, but manages to get in one good swipe that has the rat squealing and slowing even further. It manages a few more strides and then stops. The cat watches on from a few feet away as the rat squirms and then rather weakly lifts itself back up, struggling to keep itself going. Twelve sees the change immediately, the moment it turns from a mad dash for food to a game as the cat slowly slinks closer, watching the rat struggle on for a few feet, stepping closer when it stops, watching it struggle again, then stepping closer, and on and on before finally it ends, the cat making his final pounce and taking the rat between its teeth. The scene changes again and he is back in the bath, Liam watching him, but not the way the cat had looked as it loomed over its prey, not the way the Visitors had looked at operatives, had looked at _him_. Not predatory, but something different. Something softer. Something he cannot put a name to.

Twelve wakes to the muffled sound of Harry’s voice and turns to find that the door to the flat is cracked. Harry is on the phone speaking in a hushed voice in the corridor just outside the doorway and Twelve can just barely make out Liam’s voice on the other end.

“…no, he’s still asleep,” Harry is saying.

“Christ, he told me he was okay. Do you think he still doesn’t really understand what okay means? Like maybe he still thinks it’s just physical or something?”

There’s a soft shuffling sound, something sliding against the hard surface of the wall and even without seeing he knows that Harry is leaning against it now. “I think he understands exactly what it means. I think he used it exactly how he meant to use it and I think he understands more than you’re giving him credit for. Think about it, what’s more human than telling everyone you’re fine when you’re the exact opposite of fine? He’s watching everything we do all the time, learning, internalizing. Given the added advantage he has with his particular…skillset, I wouldn’t be surprised if he understands human interaction even better than we do at this point.”

Liam mumbles something on the other end, words that Twelve cannot quite make out but that sound like assent, before his voice becomes clear once again. “It’s good he’s finally getting some rest though at least, he’s barely slept these last few nights and after everything this morning...”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll keep an eye on him, don’t worry. And hey, it’s still progress, right? Even if it isn’t the kind we want.”

Liam sighs. “Yeah…yeah, I guess. Listen, I’ve got to get back to work but text me if anything else happens, yeah?”

“’Course.”

“Thanks. Don’t know what I’d do without you, Haz.”

“Worry yourself to death probably.”

Liam laughs. “Probably. See you later, mate.”

“Later.”

Harry comes back in, shutting the door closed softly behind him but Twelve is still thinking of Liam’s laughter. He wonders if he will ever be able to make Liam laugh like that. He wonders why he wants to.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Harry says, appearing a bit startled as he comes around the couch.

Awake. Yes. He had been asleep, dreaming. Dreaming of Liam. Had he dreamed of Liam this morning? Before he woke with the reaction? He cannot recall. The moment feels far away now. He had thought he dreamt of nothing but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he simply cannot remember. There are many things he cannot remember these days. He thinks of the dream he just awoke from and he cannot remember now whether that is how it happened or if it was simply another trick of his subconscious. Had Liam really looked at him that way or had he imagined it? Or had it simply been another memory tainted by the wild imaginations of his sleeping mind? Was it before his memory began to fail him or after? And if so can his recollection of it even be trusted as accurate? He does not know now.

“Are you hungry? It’s almost lunchtime so I was thinking I’d make some pot noodles but I didn’t want to wake you. Except apparently you’re already awake, so…there’s chili beef, curry, and spicy peri peri chicken. Which one would you like?”

He thinks for a moment, weighing his options before he makes his decision. “Spicy peri peri chicken.”

“Excellent choice!” Harry says smiling at him and then spinning around to head toward the kitchen.

Twelve sits in his usual seat at the counter while Harry cooks, singing along to music playing from his phone. Harry often sings and dances while he cooks and Twelve finds it fascinating to watch. It is a stark contrast to Liam who is usually relatively silent while cooking though he has a tendency to fidget in idle moments when he has nothing to stir, cut, or clean.

Harry slides forks and two bowls of noodles to Twelve’s side of the counter and then comes around to sit next to him as they eat. He has had noodles made like this before with Liam before but never this flavor. It reminds him of the flavor of the chicken Liam made all those months ago, the one he said used to be Twelve’s favorite, in his other life. The dull ache in his head grows more insistent at the recollection of the memory but he ignores it.

“Jesus, you must have really been hungry, huh?” Harry says grinning as he looks from Twelve’s empty bowl to his own, still half full. Twelve supposes there must be some sort of joke in Harry’s words that he is missing or does not understand and he does not know how to respond so he simply takes his empty bowl to the sink and washes it.

When Liam finally returns hours later, the slight tightness in his chest that has been plaguing him all day finally releases itself. He sits at Liam’s feet on the floor in front of the couch and writes about the day in his journal, but he does not write about the dream. He does not know why but it feels like something Liam should not know. It is a strange feeling to have considering he has never purposefully kept information from Liam before, never felt the need to before now, yet with this he does. The dull ache in his head grows more insistent again at the thought but again he ignores it. Despite how wrong or abnormal it may seem, it is protocol now for him to be allowed to choose and he is choosing not to share this information with Liam. He is following orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know I’ve kind of skipped over almost everyone’s birthdays and Christmas and New Year’s but it just didn’t feel like there was room for any of it with all that’s going on in their lives rn…in addition to the ipad convos I may eventually post outtakes from this verse with scenes that didn’t quite make it into the story like birthdays/holidays/other random scenes that just didn’t fit in with everything else that was going on, but it probably won’t be until I’m finished or at least almost finished with this fic (i.e. when I know for sure that there’s no way to work in or reference those scenes at any future point), again let me know in the comments if that’s something you guys would be interested in...
> 
> Also I've started this thing on [tumblr](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com) where I post snippets/sneak peeks of future chapters to kind of make up for the generally long waits between updates so you can guys can have _something_ and don't just feel like you're being left hanging for long stretches of time all because of my inconsistent self and I'll prob be posting some from the next chapter very soon (like maybe later tonight or tomorrow) so go check those out when you can, they'll be in my [twelve fic tag](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/twelve-fic), and give them a like or feel free to send me a message (anon or otherwise) so I'll know if it's even a thing that you guys are interested in/that I should keep doing or not
> 
> As always comments and kudos are much appreciated, they feed my soul and give me fuel to write so  
> FEED ME! *in my Evil Cannibalistic Giant voice* lol jk, but I love you guys and your amazing support seriously does feed my soul :) <3
> 
> (p.s. sorry for the essay length ramblings on this chapter)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who may not have read my essay-length end note in the last chapter, **sneak peeks for future chapters can be found[here](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/twelve-fic).**
> 
> (and hopefully you read this lol)
> 
> Got A LOT of writing done this weekend so that’s why this is getting posted so soon after the last one and the next chapter shouldn’t be too far behind! As always, enjoy and Happy Monday! :)

_Liam_

“Stop it,” Harry mutters from beside Liam as they shuffle forward in line at the bakery.

Stop what?” Liam says not even bothering to turn and look at him.

“Worrying.”

Liam hunches his shoulders defensively. “M’not.”

“You are.”

Liam studiously ignores him, shuffling forward again as the line moves.

They’re here to pick up a cake. Which Liam ordered for Twelve. For his birthday. Which is today. Something that less than a year ago he never imagined he’d even be celebrating again but here he is.

Louis, Niall, and Sarah are back at the flat and Twelve’s family is on the way, should be here within the hour. Even Waliyha and Doniya are coming, which was a complete shock to him because he was sure they wouldn’t want to, but he supposes this is a special circumstance. And Harry’s right. He’s worried. Even if he doesn’t really want to admit it. He’s gone back and forth a million times, both in his head and aloud, about whether or not they should even be having a party with Twelve still right in the thick of it with his episodes. There’s so much that could go wrong. But Harry’s convinced it will be good for Twelve’s sense of self and something positive for him and his family to look back on later. He’d even called Twelve’s family up on his own and gotten them on board and at that point Liam couldn’t exactly say no without looking like a huge dick. So now they’re here in line to pick up a cake while Louis, Sarah, and Niall keep Twelve company by watching SpaceMonsters 3000 for probably the millionth time and Liam is freaking out and doing a terrible job of hiding it apparently.

“Think of it as, like, a double milestone,” Harry says once they’ve gotten the cake settled in the back of the car and Liam is pulling out of his parking space. “He’s officially been with you now for six months and he’s already a completely different person than he was when he first came and that’s all because of you. So in a way it’s kind of like we’re celebrating you too, and also his progress, and also his first birthday in like eleven years. It’s a triple milestone. Even better!”

Liam wants to argue that if there’s anyone that’s helped the most it’s Harry, or even Sarah, not him. But he knows Harry would only argue with him so he lets it go.

“And besides,” Harry continues, “it’s not like we’re gonna be popping streamers and setting off fireworks or anything like that. It’s just some cake and a nice dinner with family and friends. No different from our usual Friday night, really, except for maybe the cake and the fact that it’s Thursday.”

“And a lot more people all at once in a small space,” Liam adds.

“All people he knows and is comfortable with,” Harry argues. “You can’t keep him sheltered forever, you know. He needs to expand his boundaries and what better way to start than by getting used to being around more than a just couple of people at a time? It’s not like we’re throwing him into a random room full of complete strangers. He’ll be in a familiar environment surrounded by familiar faces and if anything happens we’ll deal with it just like we do everything else, one step at a time. Even Sarah thinks it’s a good idea and she’s the expert out of all of us. She wouldn’t have agreed to it if she didn’t think he was ready.”

Liam sighs. He’d known that argument was coming but it doesn’t make him feel any less anxious. He’s doesn’t feel like arguing about it anymore though so he just nods and keeps his eyes on the road ahead of him.

By the time they get back to the flat the film is just ending and Louis is throwing popcorn at the telly yelling, “Booooo! Where’s part two already?”

“Really, Louis?” Liam says, rolling his eyes as Harry holds open the freezer door for him to put the cake in. “I literally _just_ cleaned before you got here. Twelve’s family isn’t even here yet and you’ve already made a mess of the floor.”

“It’s been five hundred years and still no sequel, I can’t be expected to contain my frustration any longer. Besides, this is exactly why you should get a Roomba. I’m telling you that thing will change your life, me and Haz barely even have to lift a finger anymore.”

Harry scoffs. “Like you’ve ever cleaned a day in your life anyway. I only got it so I wouldn’t have to keep cleaning up after _you_.”

“Exactly, thank you for proving my point, Harold. See, Liam? All you have to do to keep from having to clean up after me is get a Roomba.”

Harry glares. “That is not at all what I said.”

Louis waves a hand in the air dismissively. “Might as well have been.”

“Ohh-kay,” Sarah interrupts loudly before this can devolve any further and Liam is forever grateful for her. “Louis, clean up your shit, you’re not two. Harry, let it go. Liam, keep being beautiful.”

Harry snaps his mouth shut from where he’d clearly been about to argue with Louis further and Louis, for his part, actually listens for once and cleans up the bits of popcorn from the floor. It’s insane but Sarah seems to be the only one he’ll actually listen to when it comes to people telling him what to do. Liam is definitely not complaining though, and neither are any of the rest of them. He flashes her a smile, which she returns easily before turning back to the telly and snuggling back into Niall’s side.

Louis grumbles as he cleans up the mess and throws a stray piece of popcorn at Sarah just to be extra annoying but Twelve’s hand flies up just as fast and catches it moments before it hits her cheek.

Liam freezes, tensing up automatically, preparing himself for the worst, but Louis just sticks his tongue out at Twelve and says, “Fun sucker.”

“I know you are but what am I,” Twelve says and he doesn’t have the right inflection for it to sound like a taunt or even a question for that matter, so it comes out sounding a bit robotic and more like a statement of fact than anything, but everyone laughs anyway and Liam can’t do anything but blink at the scene that just unfolded in front of him.

“See?” Harry says, shoulder bumping into Liam’s, voice low enough for most of the others not to overhear. “He’s _good_.”

Liam thinks Harry’s definition of good may be a bit skewed—stealing phrases from the Louis Playbook of Snark isn’t exactly what he would call good, but he’ll take it.

The knock at the door startles him out of his still slightly shocked stupor and he goes to open it only to be greeted with a face full of balloons. He sputters a bit, grabbing for the strings and struggling to pull them inside and finds Safaa giggling at him from the doorway.

“Menace,” he teases, still trying to wrangle all the balloons. Once he’s gotten all six of them together and all the way through the door—one shaped like a two, another like a four, and the rest all variations of happy birthday messages—he glances back out to the corridor behind her. “Where’s everyone else?” he says when he realizes she’s alone.

“Parking. They’ll be up in a minute.” She glides past him and plops herself down on the arm of the couch right next to Twelve and pokes him in the shoulder with a big grin, saying, “Happy birthday, TZ!”

Liam can’t help smiling endearingly at the nickname. It’s something she started calling him sometime after their first few visits with him. It started as a joke, calling him by both names, Twelve/Zayn, except that she would actually say the whole thing out, including the slash. It quickly got shortened to TZ when that got to be too much of a mouthful, but now it’s pretty much all she calls him and she says she likes it better anyway because it makes him sound cool like ET.

Twelve just blinks at her, says, “Thank you,” with his grimace-smile and then turns back to the telly.

Niall’s flipped the channel to some random documentary about the history of golf that no one seems to be interested in but him and Twelve and there’s no way they’re keeping that on until the end but Liam doesn’t have a chance to voice his thoughts before there’s a commotion behind him. The door to his flat’s still open and the rest of the Maliks come bumbling through the doorway with arms full of boxes and bags.

Liam rushes over to help, as does Harry, and they manage to get everything laid out across the counter without too much of an incident while the others are still clambering off the couch.

“Sorry,” Trisha says, sliding the last bag onto the edge of the counter. “We may have gone a bit overboard.”

“Thought we’d get one for each year we missed, make up for lost time, you know?” Yaser adds.

Liam waves a hand. “Nothing to feel sorry for, that’s actually a really nice idea.”

“Symbolic _and_ sweet,” Harry agrees, nodding.

Once the three of them have made their way over Niall, Louis, and Sarah exchange hugs with Trisha and Yaser who then politely excuse themselves to greet Twelve. It’s only the third time the Maliks and his friends have actually been together in the same room but watching them interact you wouldn’t know it. They hug each other like old friends and it already feels like they’ve known each other for months instead of just a few weeks. But then again Liam figures if there’s any situation that could lead people to bond even quicker than usual it’s this one.

Waliyha and Doniya are the only ones the others haven’t met yet and they stand awkwardly a few feet behind where their parents just were as Harry gives them a little wave.

“Hi, I’m Harry.”

“And this is Louis, Sarah, and Niall,” Liam adds, pointing to them each in turn.

Waliyha and Doniya both seem a little nervous and uncomfortable as they shuffle closer to exchange pleasantries with the others and Liam wonders if they might be feeling a little guilty. He wants to tell them that they shouldn’t be—after all, most sane people would have run the other way too—but he doesn’t want to say anything in front of the others and make things even more awkward then they are already are.

He waits until Harry and everyone else has retreated to the other side of the counter for snacks and drinks before he shifts a little closer to the two of them.

“So, um, how’ve you guys been?”

“Alright,” they say almost in unison, nodding politely.

“How’s classes and everything?” he says to Waliyha.

“They’re good, yeah.” She nods but she’s avoiding Liam’s eyes.

“Work going alright?” he asks Doniya.

“Yeah, pretty much the same.” She says and she doesn’t avoid his gaze like Waliyha but she does look away rather quickly.

Liam nods, bites his lip contemplating the best way to say this. “You, um, you know none of us are, like, judging you or anything for not coming before, right? Or, what I mean is, no one blames you. I think we’re all each kind of dealing with this in our own way, you know? It’s a lot to take in and it’s alright to feel like you need to take some time and space to process it all. Everyone here gets that.”

“Does _he_?” Waliyha says, nodding at Twelve, and it sounds a little sarcastic but also a little sad.

“Maybe not yet, but he will,” Liam says optimistically. “He’s already a lot different from how you remember him last time. Why don’t you try talking to him and see?”

They both look a little wary for a moment, glancing at each other as if they’re contemplating, but after a moment they head over anyway.

Liam goes to join the others in the kitchen and Louis immediately passes him a can of beer.

“Thanks,” he says popping the tab only for it to spray all over his face as Louis dissolves into hysterical laughter. “Arrghhhh, _arsehole_. What the _fuck_.”

Liam shakes beer from his arms and wipes at his face while Niall and Sarah pelt crisps at Louis in solidarity as Louis tries unsuccessfully to scramble away. Harry just glares.

“Sorry,” Louis says between giggles, still dodging stray crisps, “it was just too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“I hate you.”

Louis pauses to press his hand to his chest in mock-sentimentality. “Awww, I love you too, Leemo.”

Liam grabs a dishtowel to wipe his face and then swats at Louis repeatedly with it, grumbling, “Why are we even friends?”

“Because you love me!” Louis replies in typical overdramatic fashion, arms wide as if declaring his undying love for Liam.

Liam rolls his eyes and shoves at Louis, catching eyes with Twelve over Louis’ shoulder. He’s watching them, probably has been for this whole exchange, but Liam suddenly gets the strangest sense of déjà vu. Remembers that it wasn’t so long ago he was standing in this very spot in the kitchen alone, watching Twelve watch him, all of Liam’s friends surrounding him, and wondering if he would ever see anything besides blank indifference in his eyes.

There’s something there now, not quite an emotion but amusement maybe, or at the very least fascination. He’s not smiling or anything, they’re not there yet. At least not outside of the creepy-grimace imitation smile. But it’s something. It’s something where for so long he worried there wouldn’t ever be anything. He smiles at Twelve and all he gets is a blink in response but he’s still counting it as a win.

When he goes to turn back around to face the others Harry’s watching him, a slight crinkle in his brow like he’s just put something together, or is trying to.

“What?” Liam says a little nervously. He’s been catching Harry staring at him quite a bit lately and he can’t quite figure out why but he feels like whatever it’s about it can’t be anything good.

Harry shakes his head, says, “Nothing.” But his brow is still furrowed and it’s very clear that it’s not nothing.

Safaa comes up to the counter then, leaning on her elbows across from Liam and he smiles at her. “What’s up?”

“The birthday boy wants to know when we’re having cake.”

Liam grins, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really? _Twelve_ wants to know when we’re having cake? Not a certain young girl with a sweet tooth?”

Safaa shrugs. “His words, not mine. He seems very concerned about this cake situation.”

“Oh, _very_ concerned, is he? Well, tell _Twelve_ I said dinner first, then cake.”

“I’ll make sure to pass along the message.” Safaa nods gravely and then goes back to the couch.

When she’s far enough out of earshot Harry dissolves into giggles beside him. “ _He’s very concerned about this cake situation_ ,” Harry repeats, falling into another fit of giggles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone pretend to be so serious about cake.”

Liam laughs too, nodding. “She’s very serious about sweets, that one. Once Trisha made a whole tin of fresh-baked biscuits for Twelve but by the time they got here Safaa had eaten almost half of them, claiming she wanted to make sure they were good enough for Twelve and that she’d needed a large sampling pool to test just to be sure.”

“Sounds like a woman after my own heart,” Niall suddenly cuts in and Liam hadn’t been aware he’d been listening, as ensconced in argument as he and Sarah had been with Louis. “Seems like a very sound testing procedure if I do say so myself.”

“Yes, we’re all well aware of your expertise in the very scientific procedures of food sampling,” Sarah teases.

Niall leans down to bite at the crisp in her hand, chews thoughtfully for a moment, and then in a very exaggerated version of a posh accent, says, “Hmmm…the amount of sodium chloride could be better proportioned, but the circumference is fairly even and the texture is balanced…all in all I would give this brand a four out five.”

“You are such an idiot,” Harry says but he’s laughing along with the rest of them.

There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later and Liam announces to the room at large, “Dinner’s here,” as he goes to answer it. Niall called in the order for takeaway while Liam and Harry were at the bakery earlier and it’s just in time too seeing as how _some_ people (Safaa) were starting to get a bit antsy.

It’s from an Indian restaurant nearby that Trisha recommended for the occasion saying she’d heard good reviews about it. He really hopes it’s as good as people say it is especially with how much it costs to feed this many people. Granted he’s splitting most of it with Harry and the others, but still, rush-ordering a cake is not cheap and he’s already stretched a bit thin what with trying to make his one-person salary work for two and all. The others help out when they can, bringing over groceries and extra clothes and such from time to time, which Liam really appreciates, but it’s still a bit of a struggle sometimes and he can’t depend on them for everything. Not that it would be fair to anyway since they already do more than he could ever thank them for.

He thanks the delivery guy, tips him, and then sets about trying to clear space for all of the food on the already-overcrowded counter, stacked high with gifts and full of half-eaten bowls of snacks. Niall and Sarah help consolidate space as best they can, Niall shuffling things around and stacking things on top of each other that probably shouldn’t be stacked together, like a soda bottle on top of a pile of gifts. But Sarah quickly comes behind him and rearranges everything in a safer position, which Liam is thankful for.

No sooner has everything been set out than everyone is scrambling over each other to pile up their plates. Liam brings Twelve a plate with a bit of everything on it and half of them end up sitting on the floor because there’s only so much space on the couch and the one recliner—Liam really needs to invest in some fold out chairs—but they make do and it’s nice. Trisha and Yaser are cuddled up on the couch next to Twelve, Safaa on his other side while Niall and Sarah have somehow managed to squeeze themselves into the recliner together, Louis at their feet and Liam at Twelve’s with Doniya and Waliyah next to him, tucked close to Trisha and Yaser. Twelve’s turned on an episode of Friends, which seems to have become a favorite of his lately even if he’s reluctant to call it that, and they eat and laugh all piled together around Liam’s small living room and it’s the most relaxed Liam’s felt in a long time. He hopes the same is true for Twelve even if he’s not fully willing or able to express it yet.

Once the cake has been cut and the gifts have been opened, in the typical and characteristic unamused fashion that Twelve does everything, and once everyone—especially Safaa—has had their fill, the Maliks make their round of hugs.

“I’m so sorry for not coming for so long,” Doniya whispers as she hugs Liam tight. “I can see it now, how he’s different, _better_. I should’ve given him a chance and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for giving up on him.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers back. “You came back and that’s what matters. He’ll understand. I know he will.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Waliyha says into his t-shirt when she steps in to hug him. She’d been the only one standing close enough to overhear him and Doniya and as he wraps his arms around her he realizes she’s shaking.

He squeezes her tight, rests his chin on the top of her head and says, “I know. And so will he.”

When she finally pulls away she wipes at her face hurriedly, letting out a bit of nervous laughter and leaning a little into Doniya’s side as Doniya wraps an arm around her.

When they’ve all said their goodbyes and had their cheeks thoroughly kissed by Trisha everyone waves as the Maliks finally make their way out into the corridor.

“Bye, Twelve,” Waliyha says, voice cracking a little as she waves to him on her way out the door.

“Goodbye,” Twelve says, returning the wave from the kitchen where he’s currently making himself a cup of tea. He smiles and Liam has to do a bit of a double-take because it’s still not quite right but it’s also not quite as creepy or emotionless as the grimace-like smile he’s used to. Louis raises his eyebrows and Sarah tucks a small smile of her own into Niall’s shoulder, Niall is just openly staring, Harry’s mouth is half open and Liam is pretty sure his own eyes are about as big as saucers. Waliyha is already out the door, probably moving too quickly to have noticed anything as she shuts it behind her, but the rest of them are still standing there shell-shocked. No one says anything for an indeterminable amount of time, all of them just looking around at each other in slight disbelief as Twelve carries on making his tea.

It’s Louis who finally breaks the silence as he turns to Twelve and says slowly, “What. The fuck. Was that.”

Twelve blinks at him, but doesn’t respond.

“You just smiled,” Harry says, sounding as if he’s still in disbelief and Liam’s not sure if it’s meant to be an explanation of Louis’ question or if he’s just repeating it to himself out loud to confirm that it was real. Maybe both. Liam feels a bit like that too.

“Yes,” Twelve says, probably taking Harry’s statement as a question in his confusion.

The implication in Harry’s words, the unspoken _almost like you meant it_ , won’t have been clear to him. He probably doesn’t even realize that he’s done anything different and Liam can’t seem to make his own mouth work to explain but it doesn’t really matter because Twelve simply goes back to making his tea and Liam thinks maybe it’s better they don’t make a big deal out of it. Maybe it’s better they make it seem like a normal thing.

“Yeah, totally normal,” Liam says in an over-exaggerated tone looking at them all pointedly.

Sarah’s the first one to catch on and she nods in agreement saying, “Yup.”

“Wha—” Louis says looking at him funny, eyes going all squinty as he shakes his head in confusion.

Harry and Niall catch on a moment later and nod along too and Harry leans closer to Louis to give him an exaggerated wink as he repeats, “It’s totally normal.”

“Oh. Ok. Is that what we’re doing, then? Alright, whatever, sure. Totally normal.” Louis rolls his eyes.

Twelve’s watching their exchange silently as he sips at his tea and Liam has a feeling he’ll be coming across a very confused journal entry at some point in the near future inquiring about all the other possible meanings for the expression ‘totally normal.’ He can’t help smiling to himself a little at the thought.

*

Twelve is still asleep when Liam wakes up the next morning even though it’s nearly half past eleven. He rarely sleeps past seven and he’s certainly never slept in this late, but yesterday was a lot and they were up pretty late even after his family left so Liam figures he deserves a pass.

Niall is still passed out on the couch when he walks into the living room, blanket kicked all the way down to his feet. Harry’s awake, fingers tapping furiously at his phone as he lays on the floor on his belly with Louis’ chin tucked over his shoulder, a big grin plastered on Louis’ face. Liam’s a bit surprised to see Louis still here but he _had_ been threatening to call out of work with the flu last night so he must’ve gone through with it after all. Sarah left late last night so she could get some sleep in before an early morning shift at the hospital so for now it’s just the five of them but she’d promised to be back by later.

“Morning,” Liam says on his way to the bathroom.

“Uh-huh,” Harry says distractedly while Louis just grunts in response.

Liam’s not sure what that’s about but he shrugs it off as he goes to brush his teeth and have a wee. When he comes back out though they’re both still engrossed in Harry’s phone.

“What’s going on?” he says, walking towards them.

“Harry’s gotten himself in a Twitter fight with some dickhead.”

“Why?” Liam says as he sits down in front of them.

“Why not?” Louis counters.

“Lou’s helping me with witty comebacks,” Harry says, then pauses, looking up at Liam properly for the first time. “Where’s Twelve?”

“Still sleeping.”

“Still? It’s 11:34, that’s not like him.” Harry’s brow is furrowed in concern.

Liam shrugs. “Guess we must’ve really tired him out last night.”

“Huh. Didn’t think that was possible,” Louis retorts.

Liam shrugs again, says, “Yeah, well. It’s a good thing at any rate the way I see it. He’s barely slept these last few weeks—not for more than a couple hours at a time anyway—so he could use the rest.”

Louis grimaces. “ _Jesus_ , I hadn’t realized it had gotten that bad. If that’s really how it’s been then you need sleep just as much as he does. I’ve half a mind to send you back in there.” He nods his chin in the direction of the bedroom and Liam laughs.

“Nah, I’m alright. Got a solid eight hours in so I’m good.”

Louis snorts, pointing a thumb at Niall. “That’s more than I can say with the way this one goes on. Kept me and Haz up half the damn night with his snoring. We kept pushing him onto his side but every single time he’d end up on his back again five minutes later so eventually we just gave up and waited for him to shut up on his own.”

As if prompted Niall suddenly lets out a singular, obnoxiously loud snore, snuffles to himself and rolls over.

Louis shakes his head. “It’s like he _wants_ me to suffer.”

This time it’s Harry’s turn to snort and Liam laughs.

A few more minutes go by with Harry typing furiously on his phone before he finally declares, “He blocked me.”

He’s clearly not miffed about it though because he’s smiling as he says it and Louis reaches up for a high-five. “That’s cause the prick knows you’re right.”

“What were you evening arguing about?” Liam asks.

“Why SpaceMonsters 3000 is the most quality space opera film of our generation,” Harry explains.

“Only real intellectuals recognize and understand the masterful work of art that is SpaceMonsters 3000,” Louis says sagely. “That arsehole clearly wasn’t one of them.”

“Who’s an arsehole?” Niall says out of nowhere, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

“Some guy on Twitter apparently spouting anti-SpaceMonsters propaganda,” Liam answers.

“Oh. Where’s Twelve?” Niall asks, squinting at him.

“Sleeping.”

“Still?” he says, glancing down at his phone and then back up at Liam.

Harry throws his hands up. “That’s what _I_ said.”

“Was he feeling okay last night?”

“As far as I know.” Liam shrugs. “But like I was telling Haz, he could use the rest.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true.” Niall yawns, scratching at his belly and then says, “What’s for breakfast?”

Later, when they’ve all had their fill of eggs and waffles and turkey sausage, and even crepes a la Harry, and they’re all sprawled across the couch half on top of each other Louis bonks Liam on the head out of the blue, says, “You know, I’ve always wondered, was it weird for you helping him shower and stuff before?”

Liam feels his cheeks heat up, bites his lip and ducks his head so he doesn’t have to look at Louis. “Um…I guess. At first. But after a while it kind of just became normal, you know?”

“Is it weird for you now that you don’t have to anymore?” Niall says, sitting up a little. “Like, you know how you get used to doing something all the time and then when you stop it feels weird. Is it like that for you now?”

Liam doesn’t answer right away but Harry’s watching him studiously, almost as if he’s expecting him to say something incriminating. He’s in the recliner but he’s sat sideways, his legs stretched out so they rest on the arm of the couch next to Liam and Liam shifts a little nervously.

“No, not really,” he says but it’s not entirely true. He does miss it a little but not for reasons quite as innocent as those. He’s man enough to admit that to himself at least even if it does leave him with a sharp pang of guilt burning low in his belly. He’s trying to think of ways he can shift the conversation to something that won’t have him feeling quite as guilty though so he says, “Speaking of weird though, there was this one time that was really weird. It was right after he’d first started showering on his own and he’d been in there for a really long time. I was starting to get worried so I went to check on him. Turns out he was having an episode, I think he thought he was in the bunker waiting to be bathed again or something, but anyway the water was _freezing_ cold. The hot tap wasn’t even turned on at all, it was just the cold tap running and he’d been in there for like thirty minutes.”

“Jesus,” Louis laments.

“Does he always do that?” Niall asks.

Liam shrugs. “Dunno. Haven’t had another incident yet where I’ve had to go check on him like that.”

Harry’s staring at the floor now, eyes narrowed as if he’s deep in thought. Liam is hoping it’s nothing bad about him, can’t help but to worry, and he sags a bit in relief when Harry finally speaks. “You know, I remember reading something once for one of my psych classes about how sometimes people who are emotionally stunted or who have trouble processing emotions because of severe trauma don’t really perceive differences in temperature the same way we do. For instance, there was this girl called Genie that we learned about in one of my classes who was severely abused and kept isolated alone in a room for, like, the first twelve years of her life with hardly any human contact, and eventually these psychologists who were taking care of her for a little while found that whenever she ran a bath for herself the water would be freezing cold. But when they tried to ask her about it she didn’t even seem to be aware that it was cold or that there was a difference between hot and cold. That’s how they came up with the theory that sensitivity to temperature could be related to emotional sensitivity.” He pauses, then shrugs. “Alternatively, it could also just be that cold showers are the only thing he’s used to. If that’s all he’s ever known in the bunker he might be more comfortable that way.”

“My money’s on the second one knowing those evil sons of bitches,” Louis says. “Cheap bastards probably just didn’t wanna pay for hot water.”

“What if it’s both?” Niall cuts in. “Like, what if it’s what he’s used to but he also just doesn’t really notice the difference or isn’t bothered by it?”

Harry shrugs. “Could be. Honestly, it’s anyone's guess at this point. With this amount of uncharted territory it could be any number of things. Maybe they even found some way to turn off the part of his brain that registers that sort of thing. Like, blocking the receptors somehow or something. Who knows?”

They all fall into silence then, each of them deep in thought and Liam finds his own thoughts drifting to last night when there’d been a bit of an odd moment too, though he understood this one much better than the cold water thing. Twelve had been opening the last of his gifts, among them a set of comic books, three different sets of art supplies (pencils, oil pastels, and watercolors), two gift bags full of new clothes, a collection of Marvel DVD’s, a photo album, two books of poetry, and a pair of Beats headphones, which Liam is sure couldn’t have been easy for his family to afford, especially on top of everything else. He got to the clothes last and when Liam suggested he try them on to make sure they fit and were comfortable Twelve had immediately started to strip down right there in the living room in front of everyone.

“Woah!” Liam had yelled, jumping up and pulling Twelve’s shirt back down where he’d started to pull it up, hoping his sisters hadn’t had a chance to get too good a glimpse of all the scars littering his chest. “Slow your roll there, speedy. Why don’t you go and get changed in my room and then you can come out and show how everything fits, yeah?”

“Okay.” He nodded dutifully, heading back into the room with both bags.

“Sorry,” Liam explained, turning back to Twelve’s family with a nervous smile. “We’re still working on the whole privacy thing. He doesn’t really get it. He used to walk in on me in the loo all the time if I didn’t remember to close the door all the way. He’s gotten better now but as you can see it’s still a bit of a work in progress.”

They’d had a good laugh about it and then Twelve had come out modeling different outfits while Louis and Harry catcalled at him obnoxiously. It’s funny now when he thinks about it but with the stoic look and the measured way he moves Twelve had honestly ended up looking pretty damn close to an actual male model. Liam doesn’t dwell too much on that though because then he’ll just end up right back where he started so instead he shifts his thoughts to Twelve’s interactions with his family, mentally replaying the rest of the night, still slightly amazed at how well it had all gone.

When Twelve finally does wake up hours later he still seems a bit out of it even though he says he’s fine when Liam asks. He practically inhales the leftovers Liam saved him from breakfast and he seems somewhat distracted, but not in a PTSD episode kind of way. When he’s not looking half distracted he’s glancing at Liam funny, but it’s not like his usual staring. It’s more of a quick glance at Liam and then a surveying around the room as if he’s looking for something or expecting something to have changed, checking to make sure everything’s still there. Liam doesn’t know what to make of it and neither does Sarah. She’d come back shortly before Twelve woke up and promptly fell asleep in the recliner, only to be woken up again by all the commotion in the kitchen from Liam washing the dishes. Liam feels a bit guilty because he’d been trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake her but when he apologizes she just pats him on the arm and tells him not to worry about it, jumping right into a conversation with Twelve.

She seems to notice his distraction immediately, how his answers come slower than usual, as if he’s taking longer to process the question or maybe to think about his answer. It’s strange for him, especially when they’re all so used to his laser-sharp focus and his immediate and rather blunt way of speaking, with no regards. Sarah texts him to avoid being overheard.

_Has he been like this since he woke up?_

_yeah. idk wuts going on & he wont tel me…any ideas?_

_Not a clue. Pretty sure it’s not an episode cause he’s definitely present and responsive and aware of what’s going on, he’s just not ALL here…maybe he’s got something on his mind he just doesn’t wanna talk about?_

_maybe_

He pockets his phone, Sarah shrugging at him as he does, and decides to just let it go. Whatever it is it can’t be too bad. Twelve seems like he’s in relatively good spirits, by his peculiar standards anyway, and that’s good enough for Liam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Be on the lookout for sneak peeks from chapter 30 to be posted very soon[here](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/twelve-fic)!**
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>  **For anyone who’s curious I’ve posted a timeline[here](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166478480328/twelve-fic-timeline) listing out the dates of major events in the story** , including when Zayn was initially taken, which I haven’t made all that clear in the fic just yet (but I will).
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> Also, keep in mind I initially started writing this in 2016 so up till now that’s the timeline I’ve been following, so these last two chapters are the first ones that actually take place in 2017; also Zayn was technically actually missing for ten and a half years (not just ten) which is why even though he was twelve when he was taken, he’s twenty-three going on twenty-four when he comes back - just wanted to point that out in case anyone was confused about ages and dates.
> 
> [another funny side note if you're interested](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166481915923/ch-29-funny-side-note)


	30. Chapter 30

_Zayn_

The celebration of his date of birth—still such a strange civilian concept to him—is a long but fascinating affair. He understands logically the sentimentality of it, the reasoning behind it; the inclination to acknowledge the day a life began, to celebrate the achievement of surviving yet another year. He supposes it is not altogether much different from Ranking Assessments in that it is an acknowledgment of one’s progress, though those did not yield any sort of celebration of course. But the rituals themselves have always seemed arbitrary and illogical to him. He does not understand the significance or the need for things like balloons, cake, and gifts, all of which seem to be staples, possibly even requirements, for these sorts of celebrations. Nevertheless it is not an unpleasant affair.

There are many fascinating conversations for him to observe and participate in, the food is rich and flavorful, and he receives many gifts. His first experience of cake is an interesting endeavor. He still does not understand the purpose of lighting candles only for him to immediately blow them out, another arbitrary and irrational celebration ritual. But as Liam explains, it is an integral part of the ceremony. Everyone applauds afterwards as if he has achieved some major feat greater than blowing out small candles but he supposes this is simply another part of the ritual that he does not understand. The cake itself is a rather fascinating mix of textures and flavors. There is ice cream inside, which seems to cause a lot of unexpected excitement among the others, and it is a fascinating contrast to the soft, fluffy texture of the cake and the creamy texture of the icing. It is sweet but in different variations, the ice cream sweeter and richer than the cake itself, and the icing yet even sweeter than the ice cream. He thinks he understands once he has had it why it is something often reserved only for special occasions.

The day after the celebration, however, is a strange one. He wakes with a pounding in his head, in the same place where there had been nothing but a dull ache before, and though it is nowhere near as intense as the pain of The Procedure or the pain of a few weeks ago when he woke to find everything within himself changed, it is still enough to cause him great discomfort. The clock next to Liam’s bed reads 5:02 PM but he is sure that that cannot be right because it would mean that he has slept for more than fifteen hours. Regardless of the true hour he is still incredibly exhausted and contemplates returning to sleep for a brief period before he decides against it. Through Liam’s bedroom window he can see that the sky is a pale grey but he cannot see the sun and it is unclear if it is truly the pale grey of early dawn or of early dusk. Liam is clearly awake, the bed empty beside him, though this is a strange hour for Liam to be up if it is in fact morning.

He focuses in on the room outside, all other noise falling to the background for the moment as he picks up five heartbeats, four relatively steady, one slightly elevated. The slightly elevated one is likely Liam moving around, the others must still be asleep. It is strange that there are five now instead of four but perhaps Sarah decided to forgo work and return to sleep here.

He stands gingerly, feeling as if every movement only exacerbates the pain in his head and starts to move toward the door but then suddenly it is swinging open and Liam is standing in the doorway. A strange thing happens then, the image of Liam in front of him overlaid with that of a boy, much younger, standing in a different doorway in a different room. The image is gone as quickly as it had appeared, only having lingered for an instant, so quick that Twelve would have been certain he had imagined it were it not for the fact that the room had been familiar.

His dreams for some reason had been particularly vivid last night, filled with strange imaginings of celebrations much like the one last night. But these had taken place in a house, the same house he has been dreaming about for weeks now, ever since these emotions first began to plague him, though before last night it had never been anything more than a collection of hazy images and sounds. He would hear the sound of creaking stairs and a little girl’s laughter; see a brief image of a scuffed hardwood floor in a short corridor or the edge of a patterned rug peeking out from beneath a couch. But this had been different, everything before him stark in its clarity. He had walked down the creaking stairs, felt the wooden banister underneath his hand and the thin, worn rug under his socked feet. Faces had still been vague, blurry, but he could hear the voices of his parents through the fray along with many others he did not recognize. Presents were stacked high next to the couch and the living room was full of people, all of their faces indistinct. He had hugged each one, blown out candles on a small homemade cake—though how he knows it was homemade he is still not quite sure—ripped the wrapping off of presents until there were no more left, and felt an inexplicable sense of _something_ throughout the dream that he thinks perhaps could have been what happiness feels like, though never having felt it before he cannot be sure. It is another one of those things that seems instinctual though, something he knows without being able to recall or reason _how_ he knows it, like knowing that the cake in the dream was homemade or how to speak without having been taught.

The dreams had continued on like that throughout the night, each one affording him more glimpses of parts of the house he had not seen before. A kitchen not much bigger than Liam’s with white-tiled floors and a cluttered countertop; a little dining area with a wooden table, five matching chairs, and a high chair; a grassy backyard with a line of laundry hanging over it; a small room with a twin-sized bed in one corner, pictures and posters taped to the walls, a desk littered with stacks of notebooks, pens and pencils, and glossy books he has now learned to recognize as comic books.

This was the room he had briefly envisioned when Liam first walked in.

“Oh, hey, you’re awake,” Liam says, smiling and then pausing to look him over more critically. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, well, there’s leftovers from a late breakfast if you’re hungry or I could heat up some of the food from last night for you if you want. I was just coming to check in on you. I thought you’d still be sleeping, but good to know you’re awake. Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes.”

Liam smiles. “Good. That’s good. So, um, everyone’s still here cause they’re moochers who don’t know when to leave, and Sarah just got back, but we can do whatever you want, make it into kind of like an extended birthday celebration.”

“I heard that!” Louis yells from behind Liam.

Twelve does not respond but he follows Liam out of the room before going to brush his teeth, realizing after everything Liam has said and from what he sees of the others, that it _is_ in fact after 5 PM and most of them are not asleep but are simply sitting on the couch on their phones. The only exception is Sarah who appears to be napping in the recliner, buried under one of Liam’s large blankets.

Twelve eats all of the leftovers rather quickly, suddenly feeling much more hungry than usual. It is a strange thing still, this feeling of hunger. Most of the time he still does not feel it, simply eats at the prescribed times because he knows that he is supposed to and because he does not want to experience the detrimental effects of lack of nutrients once again. But occasionally he will feel a strong urge to eat as much as he possibly can. Usually it occurs following emotional outbursts and he often suppresses it, but there are times when it seems to come upon him at random, such as now. Even after he has eaten he finds that he is still hungry, but Liam is eyeing him and so he ignores the feeling.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Liam says. “If you’re feeling ill you know you can tell me.”

“I am fine.”

“Okay, if you say so,” he says, lifting his hands in a surrendering gesture.

The room suddenly changes, again for only a moment; no more than a glimpse between blinks, an image of the small kitchen from his dream overlaying his view of Liam’s kitchen. He blinks again, surveys the room only to find it just as he remembered it. Something is wrong. His vision is failing him. This is not like moments where he loses track of time or loses himself to a memory. This is different.

The pounding sensation in his head increases. He wonders if this is the thing that has been coming. He is not afraid of it but he wonders now if he should be. He thinks of the operative that went mad and was never seen again. He wonders if that is what is in store for him. He wonders if he will simply continue to malfunction until he ceases to function altogether.

If it would bring an end to this fragmented state, wrought with emotions, distractions, and unpredictable reactions, so many things he is unable to control, he thinks perhaps he would not mind, as long as he is able to complete his final mission first.

*

The strange glitches in his vision do not stop. In fact, as time passes they only seem to increase in frequency though the pounding in his head reduces again to a constant dull ache. Once, during a visit, he glances at Safaa to find an infant sitting in her place, only for the briefest of moments and then the vision is gone. Another time he glances down at the comic books on the coffee table before him, gifts from his family for the celebration of his birthdate which Liam has splayed across the table, and finds a completely different set in front of him. The coffee table is also no longer a coffee table but a small desk stacked high with notebooks with spiral bindings and composition books much like the ones he uses to record his thoughts and memories. And then just as quickly those images too are gone. Yet another time he looks up from his place on the floor to find an adolescent girl in Doniya’s place on the couch and a young child in Waliyha’s, faces indistinct and lasting only the span of time between blinks before the images are gone again.

The living room floor changes frequently from the plush, cream-colored carpet that he is accustomed to, to the vibrant hues of red, black, blue, and yellow of the patterned rug from his dream. Sometimes he can even feel the difference underneath his socked feet, just for a moment he can feel the worn, short bristles and the firmness of the hardwood floor underneath, see the contrast of the bright colors and patterns next to the stark white of the socks Liam has given him. And then it is gone, back to the soft-bristled, neutral cream that he knows. Even the couch changes from smooth, tan polyester to rough, gray striped wool; the television from a large flat-screen to a smaller boxy display; the kitchen floor from plain white tile to black and white; the island counter from pale granite to formica; the refrigerator from tall, silver stainless steel to squat, white vinyl.

Even stranger he keeps seeing a young boy in Liam’s place, face vague and indistinguishable like all of the others, yet the most peculiar thing keeps happening, even more peculiar than the visions of this strange preadolescent specter. It is the feeling that comes with the visions. Every time Twelve sees the boy he feels this inexplicable feeling welling up in his chest, the same one from the dream, and the pounding pain in his head returns. It lasts only as long as the strange glitches do, there for the briefest of moments and then gone again, but the memory of it lingers and he cannot seem to shake the question from his mind. Lately it seems everything connects back to that dream, or the others like it that he has had since and he cannot seem to make sense of it, why it is happening or what it means. But he thinks perhaps seeking an answer to the lingering question in his mind, the one that has plagued him ever since that night, will help him understand.

“What does happiness feel like?”

Liam looks up at him in surprise. He has just returned home from work and is preparing dinner, a dish called spaghetti bolognese, but his hand stills where it had previously been stirring the sauce as he blinks at Twelve.

“Um…”

Twelve waits patiently for Liam’s response, understanding now that he has experienced it himself that describing emotions is not an easy task, but he needs to know if it is the same as what he remembers from the dream. He needs to be sure.

“I guess…the best way to describe it is…you just feel _good,_ even if you don’t really know why. Like you just want to smile or laugh for no reason and everything feels light, like all the things that are weighing you down are gone or forgotten for as long as it lasts. Sometimes it’s even physical, like you just feel…lighter, less heavy, or like there’s this sort of floaty, weightless feeling in your chest.” He’s smiling as he speaks but he suddenly shakes his head, the smile fading as he bites his lip in that nervous habit of his. “Sorry, I don’t know if that makes sense to you or if that even helped answer your question at all but that’s the best way I could think of to describe it.”

“Yes, that is helpful.”

“Oh, ok. Good.” Liam looks a bit surprised as he smiles again.

Twelve does not say anything more and after a while Liam lowers his gaze back to the pot, resuming his stirring.

*

Twelve waits for the feeling to come outside of a dream like all of the others had, but it does not. The anger and sadness and fear rage on but that is all, and while he has reached a point of acceptance over this it seems to be something that bothers Liam endlessly. Ever since Twelve first posed the question Liam seems determined to help him discover something that will remind him of what it was like to be happy, how it felt. He does not understand the reason for Liam’s keen determination. It seems to Twelve that it would be easier having one less emotion to deal with on top of all of the others when even those already feel like they are too much but still Liam persists.

Liam tells him that it used to make him happy when he drew, that he could sit for hours working on a sketch and be content. He does not remember ever feeling this way but Harry and Sarah seem to think it may help him somehow. They use words like ‘therapeutic’ and ‘calming’ and ‘healthy exercise and expression’ and he does not understand how those apply to an act such as this but he knows from the sense in which they use them that they are meant to be positive.

He thinks of the pictures taped to the wall of the room in his dream and tries to recreate them with the pigmented pencils from the set he was given by his family, but it does not bring the same feeling he remembers from his dream, at least not strongly enough that he can sense. The weight of the pencil in his hand feels strangely familiar even though he cannot recall ever doing something like this before and he replicates the lines and shapes and colors with ease, but when he is done he still feels nothing.

Sarah says it will come back to him in time, that these things ‘are not all cut and dry’ as she puts it and everything cannot be expected to have an immediate effect. He does not see the point in repeating an exercise that has no measurable effect. But Liam often seems pleased to see him engaging in the exercise, despite the fact that he seems to try hard to conceal it for reasons Twelve does not understand, so Twelve continues.

It makes Liam happy and so he continues. Perhaps that is the closest he will ever get to experiencing the feeling himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So shoutout to [this anon](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/165947741263/hi-i-love-your-twelve-fic-ideas-for-your-fic) who I have to give credit to for that second to last scene because it was a scene that I was thinking about writing for a while and had kind of already started writing but wasn’t sure if I wanted to/should include in this particular chapter or not and when I got their ask and they happened to suggest almost the same thing I’d already been thinking that ended up being the final deciding factor that made me put it in :) 
> 
> So thank you so much anon! here’s hoping you see this and do a little happy dance for helping this chapter along, getting me unstuck, and getting this chapter posted that much sooner! You truly were a gem in my time of need! Also shoutout to [doveziam](https://doveziam.tumblr.com) for being the best motivator, both you and that anon ended up giving me lots of great ideas in that post that will probably end up being used for inspiration in future chapters and of course I can't forget how much you helped MAJORLY with the last scene and how you’re always reassuring me when I doubt myself so thanks so much for being amazing! :D


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So finally decided to make a name change to just Twelve cause that old name was starting to feel kinda cheesy and I already call it Twelve Fic everywhere else all the time anyway so.
> 
> Now onto what you’re here for (and as always always enjoy!)…

_Liam_

“Stop staring,” Liam says to Harry over the counter, eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Stop avoiding the question,” Harry replies, chin in his hand as he continues to peer at Liam pensively.

“I’m not avoiding the question because there is no question, at least not one that deserves to be dignified with an answer.”

“Still avoiding the question.”

Liam huffs out a breath through his nose and glares. “Could you just stop being a twat for five seconds, Harry? Twelve could be up any minute now and I don’t have the energy for this.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I could if you’d just answer the question.”

“I’m _not_ answering that,” he whispers harshly through gritted teeth, nearly knocking over the plate of food he’s just finished filling for when Twelve wakes up as he leans across the counter.

It’s nearly half past noon and Twelve is still asleep. He’s been sleeping a lot more these days and Liam isn’t sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Twelve’s been so out of it lately and it only seems to be getting worse as the days go by instead of better. He goes from eating the bare minimum to practically inhaling mountains of food, he sleeps long hours, and half the time seems like he’s not all there and in the back of his mind Liam is just a tiny bit worried that Twelve might be slipping into some sort of depression. It wouldn’t be unfounded considering everything he’s been dealing with, everything he’s been through, but Sarah keeps insisting that it doesn’t seem like anything too serious and that they shouldn’t be too worried about it. Liam can’t help it though. Can’t help feeling like this might be something more. And as if all that’s not enough he’s got Harry barging in asking him all sorts of ridiculous questions when all he’d wanted to do was have a nice, quiet, drama-free breakfast goddammit.

 _You’re in love with him, aren’t you?_ The words ring in his head on a loop, haven’t stopped since Harry first uttered them and his incessant pestering about it after the fact definitely isn’t helping. It honestly makes him want to shove Harry back out into the corridor and slam the door in his face. He’d wanted to say _no_. _Of course not. That’s ridiculous_. But he couldn’t make his mouth form the words. Couldn’t make himself lie, even to save himself the embarrassment.

“It’s a simple question, Liam. But the fact that you keep dancing around it is answer enough I guess.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, busies himself cleaning up around the counter even though there really isn’t much of anything to clean. He’s already washed all of the dishes and wiped down the counter twice trying to avoid answering Harry but there’s really nothing left for him to do at this point.

“It’s not anything new, is it,” Harry says but the way he says it makes it clear that it’s more of a statement than a question.

Again Liam doesn’t answer, can’t answer, but he’s pretty sure that his silence tells Harry everything he needs to know.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Harry continues. “That’s not the look of someone who’s just realizing how they feel. You never _stopped_ loving him, did you?”

Liam manages to force out a dry laugh, shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous, Haz, we were _kids_.” But he can’t look at Harry when he says it, keeps his eyes trained resolutely on the counter instead.

“And?”

“ _And_ you don’t even know what love is at that age, so how could you be _in_ it?”

“It’s not implausible to be able to feel something without knowing what you’re feeling or how to put a name to it. Just because you were young and didn’t know what it was or what it meant doesn’t mean you didn’t feel it. I mean, just think about those couples you always hear about who fell in love when they were like ten and have been together ever since.”

“Yeah, but that’s not real life. That’s like the kind of thing you only see in movies and books and things.”

“Pretty sure there are a lot of couples out there that would beg to differ.”

“What I mean is that’s like one of those one-in-a-million type things, like getting struck by lightning or winning a million pounds or something.”

“Is it?” Harry looks at him, eyebrows raised. “What makes you think you can’t be like those people? Who’s to say _you’re_ not that ‘one’? I mean, somebody’s gotta be, don’t they? Why not you?”

Liam shakes his head.

“If you don’t want to believe me, fine, but just look at Twelve for Christ’s sake, he didn’t know the names for half the things he was feeling at first but that sure didn’t stop him from experiencing them. How is this any different?”

“It just _is_.”

Harry sighs into his tea mug and Liam goes back to fiddling around the kitchen for a while, rearranging things and then putting them right back where they were, shifting everything to precise angles just for something to do. When he’s rearranged the sugar jar for the fifth time in a row he finally turns back to Harry, running a hand nervously through his hair.

“Look, Twelve _can't_ _know_ , okay?” Liam looks Harry in the eyes, he’s aware just how desperate and pleading his voice sounds but he needs to make it clear to Harry how _important_ this is. "I _just_ got him back, and he's still so lost and confused and I need him to know that he can trust me, that I’m not gonna—” He stops himself just short of saying _take advantage of him_. “That I’m not…like the others, that I don’t see him like they did, like he’s just a thing to be used.”

“I know. I get it. I may not have the greatest track record with secrets but you can trust me with this, I promise. I know how fragile and complicated things already are with him and I would never purposefully do anything to mess that up even further, you know that. At least I hope you do. But I want to make sure that _you’re_ being careful too. That you’re not letting your feelings get in the way of things and, most of all, that you don’t end up getting hurt.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Letting them get in the way, I mean. And as far as everything else…not really much I can do about that, is there?” It comes out sounding more bitter than he’d intended and he feels a bit guilty even though Twelve isn’t awake to hear any of this. It’s not that Liam blames him or anything. That wouldn’t be fair to him, none of this is his fault, Liam just hopes the bitterness in his voice doesn’t come off that way. That it doesn’t come off as resentment because that’s the farthest from what this is. All he wants is for Twelve to be healthy and happy, it just makes things harder sometimes that’s all.

Harry sighs sadly. “Look, just…I’m here to talk…if you ever feel like you need to, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks.”

It’s another hour or so before Twelve is up and it’s apparently one of those days where he only eats the bare minimum, pushing his still half-full plate back to Liam. He’s unusually quiet, even for him, which Liam is slowly learning means it’s one of his bad days. He’s never been the most talkative person, even when they were younger, but most days he’s full of curious questions. Like why people find it so entertaining to watch groups of men compete to kick a ball to either side of a field—Twelve’s words, not his—or why people aren’t as equally fascinated to watch women do the same. Today he just sits on the couch staring out the window and at the floor. After a while Harry goes to sit with him, Twelve curling into his side and Liam wonders when that became a thing.

He guesses it was probably all those times he was at work when Twelve wasn’t doing so great and he’s glad Harry was able to be there for him when Liam couldn’t be, glad that they seem to be bonding so well, but he can’t help feeling just a tiny bit jealous even though he knows it isn’t really fair to. It just feels like every time he’s tried to get close to Twelve he’s mucked it up or ended up making Twelve scared or uncomfortable. He thinks about the closet incidents and the time in the bath, the morning Twelve woke up screaming in excruciating pain and Liam only made things worse by touching him. He thinks of all the times he’s said or done something that’s made Twelve panicked or upset, even before Twelve was really aware of it. Maybe it’s just bad timing—after all Louis’ always joking about how shit Liam’s luck is—but he can’t help wondering if maybe it’s more. Maybe it’s _him_ that’s the problem. Maybe he makes Twelve uncomfortable. Maybe it would better for the both of them if he just made more of an effort to keep his distance.

He sleeps on the very edge of his side of the bed that night. Or at least he tries to. Mostly he just ends up lying there staring up at the ceiling and if Twelve’s constant movement is any indication he doesn’t get much sleep either. Though that’s probably more to do with the bad dream he’s likely having than anything else.

*

It’s been nearly a month now since Twelve’s birthday, since his first time being exposed to more than just a few people at a time and Sarah thinks it’s high time he get out of the flat, start getting reacquainted with the world as she puts it.

Liam knows she’s right but it doesn’t stop him from being any more nervous at the idea. Twelve hasn’t left the flat since the day he first came nearly eight months ago now and Liam has no idea what to expect. If he’ll freak out or refuse or just be totally calm and okay about it, if he’ll try to run. _God_ , Liam hopes he doesn’t try to run.

It’s a stark relief when Sarah finally broaches the topic with Twelve and all he does is blink at her and say okay. They take it slow at first so as not to overwhelm him just in case, but again he seems totally nonchalant about the whole thing. The six of them all go on a walk around the block, Twelve wearing one of Liam’s too big hoodies with the hood up. The most eventful thing that happens is that he goes a little funny at certain points, angling his head away awkwardly. His face is mostly shielded by the hoodie, even more so when he turns at these awkward angles, so Liam can’t see his face clearly enough to try to figure out what’s going on but he doesn’t think too much of it. Figures maybe Twelve is just listening for things far off in the distance or something.

It becomes a bit of a regular thing after that, the walks. Sometimes with all of them, sometimes with just him and/or Harry, each time trekking a little further than before. It takes them passing by the Tesco Express a few blocks down the road a couple of times for Liam to realize it’s windows and doors Twelve’s avoiding. Every time they pass a shop or a building or somewhere with large windows or see-through doors, Twelve angles his head away and Liam feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. Twelve never leaves the flat without a hoodie on, always pulls it up over his head the second they reach the lobby, and keeps his face at least partially hidden most of the time. It’s a long shot seeing as it’s been so many months now but it hits Liam one day that Twelve might even still have people out looking for him and honestly it comes as kind of a shock, with that realization, that Twelve’s not fazed or freaked out at all by the idea of walking around outside. But as long as he’s comfortable with it, Liam is too. After all, Twelve would know better than anyone what’s safe to do and what isn’t in this kind of circumstance.

Eventually they decide to step it up with dinner at some fancy Italian place Niall and Sarah suggest. Apparently they’ve been there together twice before and have been dying to go back but haven’t had time between Sarah’s busy schedule and Niall’s odd working hours at the pub. The restaurant has a bit of a dress code—no trainers or t-shirts, although thankfully jeans are allowed—so him, Twelve, and Harry and Louis who he’d picked up along the way, are all in button-downs and dress shoes. Twelve’s wearing the new jeans his parents got him for his birthday and a pair of Liam’s shoes. Luckily they’re the same shoe size but unfortunately he can’t say the same about shirts. The white dress shirt Liam gave him looks about three sizes too big for him, as does the hoodie he’s wearing over top of it but it was all he had. Something of Louis’ probably would’ve been a better fit but Louis hates dressing up and, outside of his work polos with the ugly logos emblazoned on them, only owns one nice shirt which is the same one he’s currently wearing.

They’re about halfway there when Liam pulls to a stop at a light and in the backseat of the car Twelve suddenly pulls his hood up and shifts so his back is mostly to the window in a flash of movement. He’s staring down at the floor but he’s breathing a little harder than usual and Liam looks from Twelve to Harry in the rearview mirror. “What’s going on?”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t know. He was fine until the Uber pulled up.” He turns to Twelve then, says gently, “Hey. Hey, Twelve, can you hear me?”

“Uber?” Liam repeats feeling like there’s something he’s missing, something important in the recesses of his brain that he’d filed away months ago but can’t quite remember now. The light’s still red so he turns in his seat, trying to look Twelve over and see what’s happening. Twelve looks up at the sound of Harry’s voice, meets his eyes but doesn’t say anything before turning to look at Liam. He’s not breathing as hard anymore but his face looks panicked, maybe even a little worried and suddenly something clicks in Liam’s mind, all the pieces falling together in a rush.

“Shit, the _Uber_.”

“What?” Louis and Harry say at the same time, completely confused.

“He wrote something in his journal once—it was so long ago I’d forgotten about it, plus I wasn’t entirely sure at the time if he meant what I thought but…he was talking about the mission cars and he mentioned something about them having these weird u-shaped stickers in their windows and well…” Liam trails off, gesturing to the car beside them.

“What,” Louis repeats though this time it isn’t really a question and he turns to Liam in disbelief, eyebrows nearly up to his hairline. “What the fuck are you saying, Liam, that they used _Ubers_ as their _mission cars_?”

Liam shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat. “I mean, it would explain how they could get around so easily without being noticed, yeah? No one blinks twice at an Uber, they probably wouldn’t even notice if they were being followed by one, or pay any mind to the weirdly-dressed person in all black Kevlar getting inside. Pretty smart way to hide in plain sight, when you think about it.”

“Plus it would explain his reaction,” Harry adds.

“Jesus fuck,” Louis bites out, dropping his face into his hands.

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Liam says as the light finally turns green again. “Just gonna get out of this lane, away from the possibly-creepy Uber, and take a slightly different route.”

He makes a sharp turn at the very next block, glancing in his side mirrors at the one car that followed them and breathing a sigh of relief when he sees it’s not the plain black Uber but a bright red Volkswagen beetle. They even honk when he takes too long to pull off after the stop sign. Definitely not some creep from the program following them then. _They_ wouldn’t have a need to honk.

Once they’ve put a couple of blocks worth of distance between them and the Uber Twelve calms down again, shrugging off his hood and turning back around in his seat. Liam watches Harry lay a gentle hand on Twelve’s shoulder in the mirror.

“You alright?” Harry says.

“Yes.”

And that’s that. They make it to the restaurant without any further incident, Niall and Sarah already waiting for them when they arrive. The hostess tries to make a bit of a fuss about Twelve’s hoodie before she agrees to seat them, but Niall’s not having any of it. He goes full Irish on her, arguing with a whole bunch of unnecessary obscenities thrown in about how that’s not listed in the dress code and he’s wearing everything else that is so what does it matter unless she wants to be the reason they end up with a huge lawsuit for discrimination on their hands. She makes a brief attempt to argue the point further but eventually gives up when all she gets is six stony faces in response.

Once they’re all seated and mulling over their menus Twelve turns to him in confusion. “What is the purpose of a dress code?”

Liam muses for a moment, trying to figure out how best to explain before he answers, “To keep certain people out mostly. Or at least that’s why restaurants do it. Other places like schools and stuff have different reasons, more about being respectful and modest or whatever. But with restaurants and fancy events it’s usually just because they want to keep lower income people out. It’s a class thing really and it’s shitty but it is what it is, I guess.”

“How can someone make a determination of class based on style of dress when those of higher class and lower class dress similarly?”

“They can’t really. It’s kind of an old-time thing, the idea being that poorer people couldn’t afford to dress fancy like the rich. It’s not as true anymore for the most part since most people these days can afford at least one nice dress or a button-down shirt. If anything the meal prices more so than the dress code are what would keep most people out who couldn’t afford to come here so making a fuss over one item of clothing doesn’t really make much sense. But it’s the rules I guess and it’s her job so.” He shrugs, turning back to his menu and Twelve does the same.

Liam watches him flip through all of the pages out of the corner of his eye and when their waiter comes Twelve picks some random seafood dish Liam’s never heard of and couldn’t even pronounce if he tried, and of course pronounces it in perfect Italian. The waiter, who is apparently Italian himself, seems pleasantly surprised and starts up a brief conversation with Twelve in Italian before he seems to remember where he is and goes back to taking the rest of their orders.

“Ohh-kayyy,” Louis says long and drawn out, eyebrows raised as he takes a sip of his water. Everyone else just kind of blinks at each other in mild surprise.

“All I understood was ice cream,” Niall says.

Twelve doesn’t elaborate further and when their food comes he wolfs it down even though their portions are too big for even Niall to finish. When the waiter comes back by to check on them he says something else to Twelve in Italian and places some fruity looking cocktail next to his plate which Louis immediately reaches across to steal from him once the waiter’s left again, saying, “ _I’ll_ take that.”

When the man comes back again to collect their plates and give them the check he slides a little bowl of vanilla gelato onto the table where Twelve’s plate had been with a folded up napkin tucked underneath.

“Also on the house,” he says in accented English, flashing Twelve a smile and a wink before he walks away again.

True to his word neither the drink nor the ice cream are listed on the bill and when Twelve slides the bowl closer to dig into the ice cream the napkin underneath unfurls to reveal a phone number scrawled in neat red ink with a smiley face.

Louis bursts out laughing, pointing at Liam as he chokes out, “Christ, your _face_ ,” in between fits of giggles.

“Liam is not amused,” Niall says, snickering into Sarah’s shoulder as she tries to hide her own smile behind her hand.

Harry pats Liam sympathetically on the arm but when Liam turns to look at him his lips are tucked in like he’s trying really hard not to burst into laughter himself and Liam rolls his eyes. Clearly he needs new friends.

*

Louis won’t stop bringing it up every chance he gets after that.

Liam will be on the phone with Harry and all of a sudden Louis’ voice will ring out in the background yelling, “Hey, remember that time Liam looked like he wanted to murder someone because that waiter flirted with Twelve? Because I do! Hashtag NeverForget!”

Or he’ll lean over to elbow Niall conspiratorially during a movie marathon and stage-whisper loud enough for the entire room to hear, “Hey, remember that time Liam almost cut a bitch for hitting on Twelve? Hashtag RememberTheA-Leemo!”

Once he even pretends to hit on Twelve himself with Liam in plain view, makes a big show of it by quoting some cheesy pick-up line and acting overly flirtatious. He leans against the counter standing entirely too close to Twelve and says, “So, come here often?” before winking suggestively and then he looks at Liam and pulls the entire knife block toward him saying, “Don’t worry knives, I’ll protect you from Liam, I won’t let him use you for evil!”

It’s moments like those that it’s hard for him to remember why he’s even friends with Louis in the first place and he says as much.

To which the usual response is, “You know you love me, Leemo!”

He’s honestly not sure how much of this Twelve understands but he just really hopes Twelve doesn’t decide to ask him about it because he has no idea how he would even explain without revealing everything, which he is definitely never in a million years doing. Nope.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double Update yayyyy! Haven't done one of those in a while, hope y'all liked the last chapter cause fair warning this one's kind of a whirlwind lol...

_Zayn_

Twelve’s dreams have turned fitful again though lately they revolve more around Liam than memories of the bunker or of old missions. He dreams of Liam’s eyes, his mouth, his smile, and he does not know why. Sometimes he dreams of other things too, things he should not be dreaming about, things he shouldn’t want and has never wanted before and those times more often than not he wakes with a heavy weight between his legs and takes solace in the closet. Liam always wakes shortly after and sits with him but in the dark of night he cannot see what Twelve doesn’t want him to.

Lately it seems as if everything he does, every new change he undergoes, leads to some new breakdown or glitch or degradation in his functioning. He feels as if the on-going list of malfunctions will never cease and worst of all he does not understand why it is happening. Everything that he is experiencing now goes beyond what he ever remembers of going too long without a Procedure and he wishes that whatever it is that he has felt coming for so long would just come, that the constant pain in his head would finally cease. If it means his termination, his end, then so be it but he does not know how much longer he can go on like this. Liam says he isn’t broken but it doesn’t feel that way. It doesn’t feel like he is healing, it feels like he is falling apart. Like he is breaking into a thousand small pieces and he will never be whole again, his mind and body at war with themselves, at war with each other.

He has been around Liam too long, he realizes, has started to adapt some of his speech patterns, started to lose some of his own “formal” ways of speaking as Liam calls it, and he realizes only now that it has been happening for months. So slowly that he hadn’t even become aware of it until now. More and more he finds himself using shortened forms of words, using more informal speech, thinking or speaking in metaphors or in fragments instead of complete sentences, things he never or rarely would have done before he came here. He does not know if that is good or bad. He does not know anything. Half of the time his thoughts feel as if they are a jumbled mess and even when he is clear-headed he sometimes can’t seem to focus.

Liam laughs and it feels as if everything falls away but that sound. He sits next to Twelve on the couch and Twelve has the sudden and uncontrollable urge to lean into him but doesn’t know if he’s allowed and cannot figure out what prompted the thought in the first place, why he would want something like that. Liam settles at the very edge of the bed, body angled away from Twelve as he falls asleep while Twelve lies awake wishing he could be closer. Wishing the space between them didn’t feel wider than it used to and unsure whether it is just in his imagination or if it really has grown.

Waking up seems to be increasingly hard these days but on mornings when he wakes early enough he listens to Liam singing in the shower and thinks he would like to hear that sound everyday and never grow tired of it. He doesn't remember ever thinking of a sound that way before, doesn’t remember ever feeling as if he needed to be physically close to someone outside of needing to be close enough to a target to inflict the most damage. But this is different. He wants to be close to Liam but he has no desire to hurt him. He just wants to be near. He wants to feel Liam’s warmth and listen to him sing and laugh and memorize his smile and he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know why he wants it or why even the thought makes his head pound but he knows that he does.

He thinks maybe this is the thing he is supposed to keep secret. This is the thing he isn’t supposed to voice or write about in his journal. This is the thing Liam cannot know, though despite how hard he tries, he cannot remember _why_.

*

He has never known a dream to cause such intense physical pain before but this one is unlike any other, more vibrant even than the ones he has had lately of the house and the faceless children. So real he feels as if he is there.

He can feel the breeze on his face as he runs, shoes slapping against the pavement underneath him. He’s chasing the boy in front of him. No, not chasing. Running with him. But the other boy is faster. The boy is laughing, turning back to grin at him and he laughs too, feels it rumble through his chest and it is strange but familiar at the same time. It is the same faceless boy he has been dreaming about for the last two months but his face is slightly more in focus this time, though still not quite clear enough to make out. With each push of his own feet forward the boy’s features grow slightly more distinct and that is when the pain starts. It begins as a dull ache, the same one he feels almost constantly now, blossoming steadily into the pounding sensation he has felt on occasion as the boy’s face grows clearer and clearer. Until slowly but surely the pounding finally builds into a piercing pain just as they come to a skidding stop at the tiny front yard of the house.

 _His_ house. It is _his_ house. He remembers this now.

The faceless girls are playing in the yard, but they are not faceless anymore, their faces are clear now. He knows them. They are his _sisters_.

They chase each other around the grass, dressed up in traditional clothing in a similar style and material to his own from some celebration that he doesn’t remember. Safaa is giggling as Doniya carries her on her back, tiny feet bouncing and dangling at Doniya’s sides as Waliyha runs behind them, reaching out to catch Safaa’s feet for a tickle only to be greeted with shrieks of laughter. The faceless man and woman are there too, not faceless any longer. Their faces are clear now too— _his parents_ —and they are huddled by the front door, laughing at the girls briefly before going back to their conversation with another couple. And though he recognizes the second couple, knows their faces almost as well as he knows his own parents’ he cannot recall where or how he knows them. The piercing pain in his head hasn’t stopped, however, and it reaches a new high as he finally turns to face the boy beside him.

He can see the boy’s face in stark clarity now and it is _Liam_ , smiling brightly at him, features smaller, face younger, rounder, but unmistakably him. _Liam_ , his mind screams. _Liam_.

When he wakes it is with a start, Liam’s face greeting him again though older this time, how he remembers it. Or rather, how he knows it now.

“Hey,” Liam says softly. “I’ve been trying to wake you for a while…are you okay? You sounded like you were in pain.”

Twelve looks at Liam’s eyes, older now and full of concern but somehow still the same and in that moment suddenly everything feels clear, clearer than it has in a long time.

“I…I remember you.”

*

The memories come quicker then, less vague but still jumbled. He dreams of Safaa’s birth, feels Doniya’s sweaty palm in his as they sit in a hospital waiting room, Waliyha asleep in her lap while they wait anxiously for a nurse or their dad or anyone to tell them everything is okay. And then he is huddling in a janitor’s closet with Liam as the heavy footsteps of the older kids chasing them pass them by, Liam’s warm breath on his neck, his back pressed close to Liam’s chest and Liam’s hand gripping his shoulder nervously as they squeeze together in the cramped space. Then, just as abruptly, everything changes again and he is standing in the middle of Doniya and Waliyha’s room as Doniya screams at him for trashing the brand new make-up kit their aunt had gotten her for her birthday. The next thing he knows he is running down the pavement again with Liam but this time it is out of fear, the same kids from before chasing them again and closing in fast, Liam’s eyes wide and panicked as he struggles to breath through what the younger version of himself recognizes as an oncoming panic attack though he can’t remember how he knows this. When he looks up again he is sitting at the dining room table in his house pushing food around his plate sulking over something he can’t quite recall while his mother tuts at him not to waste his dinner.

Suddenly everything around him shifts once again and he is standing in front of a Christmas tree with Liam posing for a picture, Liam’s hand sneaking up behind his head to give him bunny ears at the last moment. The couple he recognizes from the dream with the piercing pain are laughing at them both as the woman snaps a picture, and in that moment it hits him that these are Liam’s parents, he _knows_ them, he _remembers_ them. He’d seen them before, back when they’d come to visit Liam at his flat all those months ago, but that had been _before_. Now he _remembers_. Remembers blond hair and kind blue eyes, deep rumbling laughter and strong arms that gave the most incredible hugs.

The constant pain in his head is finally gone but it has been replaced by a feeling of vast emptiness. He remembers so little, memories coming in bits and pieces, fragments of moments that he can’t remember the context for, can’t remember what happened before or after, or the why and how and when. So many pieces of him are still missing and he feels caught in limbo between this state of who he was _before_ and what they _made_ him. Is he an operative anymore? He knows he did not used to be, that he wasn’t always. He’d known that even before the memories but now he _knows_ it, now he _remembers_ it. He remembers the child, the young boy, happy and innocent and naïve and it feels like him but also not like him, so far removed from what they made him into. Like two mismatched pieces that don’t belong together, cannot fit together no matter how hard he tries. It is as if he has lived two completely different lives and his mind cannot reconcile the two. He feels split in half, or perhaps even thirds. He can feel The Boy within him sometimes, the one who knew happiness and love, kindness and laughter, family and friendship. But he can also feel the operative, the one who knew none of those things but yet knew so much more. How to be cold and calculating; the exact point at which to strike to immobilize a target; the time it takes for one to bleed out from a punctured femoral artery, or even quicker, a slit throat; the exact angle from which to make it appear as if it was self-inflected; how to ignore pain even when it seems insurmountable; how to follow orders and keep questions to himself. And then there is him now, somewhere in between, or perhaps something else altogether. Both and yet neither all at once.

He remembers how it feels to laugh, truly laugh, remembers what it feels like to be happy, though it seems he only feels it in fleeting moments now. But he remembers the bad too, the anger and sadness and frustration though they are nothing compared to what he feels now. Trivial. He remembers family dinners full of laughter and fights with his sisters, though still only in fragmented pieces. He remembers light touches and hugs and the immediate sense of calm that came with them.

It's still hard sometimes when Liam asks him questions, not the simple yes or no ones, those have never been a problem even before, but the more complex questions, the ones that require a choice or more than just a yes or no, or the questions that aren’t really questions at all but statements that Liam expects an answer to. Those he sometimes still finds himself struggling with, years of programming making it almost instinctual not to answer but he knows that Liam wants him to answer and wants him to choose and he wants to make Liam happy. Knows somewhere deep within him that that is important though he can’t remember why. He feels sometimes as if he is fighting himself. He remembers a time when he did not have to think before blurting out an answer, when he could say whatever was on his mind and that was allowed, but the memory of that feels so far away now, feels almost foreign. He also remembers a time when he did not have to think at all, when nothing was confusing, when everything was clear and all he had to do was follow orders, do what he was told and nothing more.

He knows that Liam doesn’t like it but when Liam tells him what to do it is so much easier. He doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to fight against his programming or fight through the jumbled mess of his thoughts and memories and nothing Liam tells him to do causes him pain. Liam would never hurt him. He knows that now to his core though he can’t recall a specific memory of it, can’t recall the moment he first became aware of it in his other life. Maybe he always was. Maybe he’d known it since the moment he first met Liam though he can’t recall the memory of that either.

He doesn't remember enough. Everything is coming back to him too slow, too fragmented, and it feels like he is failing. He’s supposed to _remember_ , he’s supposed to complete his mission, the only mission Liam gave him, the only one that matters anymore but he can’t. He doesn’t know whether he’s the operative or The Boy or both or neither but that doesn’t matter because all that matters is the mission, the order. Remember. But he can’t. He can’t remember enough and he tells Liam this through stuttered apologies, face wet with tears he doesn’t even remember letting fall.

It’s late in the afternoon and he’s still in bed. Liam had only been coming in to check if Twelve was still asleep but he sits on the edge of the bed now, squeezing Twelve’s ankle through the blanket in a comforting gesture and tells him it’s okay not to remember. That he doesn’t have to remember everything right away and that Liam will help him remember what he can’t and it feels like some of the weight has been lifted from Twelve’s chest but it still doesn’t feel quite right. He feels like a shell, empty and not all here, cracked, and missing pieces that Liam is trying his best to glue back to together but the pieces won’t fit because they’re not his, they’re Liam’s. Liam’s memories, Liam’s thoughts and they may be nice, they may look and feel similar to his and help him find the lost pieces that _are_ his, but they’re not his.

Maybe the rest of his will never come. Maybe Liam’s memories and this broken shell of his former self is all he’ll ever have.

*

He dreams of Liam again but not in a way that he is not supposed to. They sit on a bench overlooking a beach, ice cream cones in their hands, their parents seated somewhere nearby where he can hear them but can’t quite see them. The air is salty and whips against his cheeks and it feels like a memory—at least part of it is. But his mind doesn’t feel like The Boy’s, not like it usually does when memories come to him like this. He feels his mind as it is _now_ but in The Boy’s body. And despite his boyish features when Liam turns to him he gets the sense that it is not the Liam he remembers from then either, but the Liam he knows now that is speaking to him.

“I guess it’s my turn, huh?” Liam says, the wind whipping his hair over his face.

“Your turn for what?”

“To take care of you.” Liam laughs, licks at his hand where his ice cream cone is dripping over it before turning back to him with a grin. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he says automatically with a surety he hadn’t known he was capable of and the origin of which he can’t seem to pinpoint.

“Good.” Liam grins again and the distant sound of the waves hitting the beach gently fades, the scene slowly dissolving until he is blinking awake to the dim, bleary light of early morning.

Liam is still fast asleep beside him and he watches his chest gently rise and fall with each breath, trying to make sense of the memory. Well, partial memory. It had been more dream than memory he thinks, or at least the conversation had anyway. He thinks he knows what Liam meant though. Remembers feeling a fierce sense of protection over him, like keeping Liam safe and happy was more important than even his own safety or his own happiness. Or no, that’s not quite right. That had been part of it, but he thinks that maybe that was also the source of his happiness, like when Liam was happy, _he_ was happy. When Liam was safe, _he_ felt safe.

He had been older, he remembers, and that meant it was his job to look after Liam, to stand up for him when he couldn’t stand up for himself, to keep him safe from the kids who wanted nothing but to hurt him, to break him down even more. It was his job to build Liam back up, to remind him how to breathe when he couldn’t remember how, to remind him how amazing he was even in the face of everyone else who told him he was worthless or useless or annoying or weird without any thought to how much it hurt, how deep it cut. It was his job to protect Liam from the world and _they_ made him forget. Turned him into a thing even worse than the cruel brutes that used to torment them, a thing so far from himself that he would’ve been willing to kill Liam if given the order and would have done it in a heartbeat with no remorse. Or perhaps not.

Perhaps that would’ve been the thing that broke him out of the mental prison they forced him into. He thinks of all that time he spent on the roof of the abandoned building, thinks of how he came here with the flimsiest of excuses trusting that Liam would know how to help him. Or maybe trust isn’t the right word since he hadn’t really known what that meant at the time, but he thinks perhaps it was something _like_ trust, some distant, emotionally-removed relative of it maybe. But the important thing is that he came. He came when he had no reason to believe that Liam wouldn’t try to harm him or call the authorities on him or even reason to take him in. And he may not have understood it at the time, may have come up with weak, half-formed explanations for it that he’d tried to use to make sense of it all at the time, to rationalize to himself logically somehow why he had surrendered himself to this man that he had not long before considered a threat to him and a threat to the program and everything he believed. But he cannot help but think now that that was all for some deeper reason, some baser instinct that he didn’t understand or wasn’t aware of at the time and that maybe would have even stopped him from killing Liam had he been given the order, forced him to deviate from his programming. He supposes he’ll never know for sure but he hopes that it would have.

*

The dreams still continue to come. Sometimes they’re memories, sometimes they’re a mix of both, sometimes they’re more clear, but more often they’re jumbled, vague, broken off abruptly as if his mind is like a television and someone suddenly switched the channel. He tries to piece things together as best he can but it is not unlike trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces or complete a mission without all of the parameters. He can’t be sure of what’s right and what’s wrong, what goes together and what doesn’t. He sits at the kitchen counter as Liam cleans up from their breakfast and tries to connect the bits and pieces in his mind.

“Vas…” he starts, trying to remember exactly how it had sounded in his dream, how to make his mouth form the words to pronounce it correctly, “Vas…happenin’?

Liam freezes, eyes wide with shock as he looks up at Twelve, the muscles in his arm straining from where it is held out taught, pressing the wet cloth into the counter with more force than Twelve is sure is necessary. “What?” Liam says, blinking rapidly and swallowing audibly.

“Vas happenin’,” he repeats slowly and uncertainly, unsure of whether he is saying it correctly, worried he’s upset Liam somehow. “I…I used to say that…didn’t I?”

He looks at Liam steadily, trying to gauge his expression, whether it is a “good” shock or a “bad” shock because he has since learned that there is a difference, remembers vaguely that this is true of a lot of emotions and expressions that seem negative on the surface. Like crying, where you can have “happy” tears or “sad” tears, or yelling from excitement versus anger, laughing out of happiness or discomfort.

“Yeah,” Liam says after a long pause, voice cracking a little. “Yeah, you—you did.”

Liam takes a deep breath and then exhales it loudly. He brings his other arm up and leans against the counter heavily, shoulders sagging, biting his lip as he stares across the counter at Twelve.

“Have I upset you?” Twelve says.

“No. No,” Liam replies, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up slightly. “It’s just…I never thought I’d hear you say that again.”

He has done it. He has _made_ Liam smile. A triumphant feat he was beginning to think he would never accomplish again. He remembers making Liam smile when they were younger, making him laugh even, but he let the despair and hopelessness get to him. He’d convinced himself he would never be able to achieve that again, never again be the reason for Liam’s smile, his laughter, his happiness, not with how he is now in this fragmented and half-broken state with only fleeting moments and the distant memory of happiness to drive him. But he has done it.

“God,” Liam says, laughing as he drops his elbows to the counter, leaning all his weight on them. “You don’t know even how good it feels to hear you say that. It almost doesn’t even feel real.”

 _Victory_. He has made Liam laugh and smile all within the space of a minute. He has made Liam _happy_. He feels that feeling welling up in his chest, the one Liam described to him all those weeks ago, floaty and weightless, like a weight lifted. Something is bubbling up within him and he opens his mouth to let it out and is surprised to hear his own laughter. Not the pale imitation of it from months before, but something _real_ , something he can feel rumbling in his chest that leaves him feeling free and full of sudden energy and he lets it come, lets it overflow until there is nothing else left but that feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **side note/question:** does anyone know for sure what Karen’s eye color is? I tried to look up pictures but it’s kind of hard to tell and it might’ve just been the lighting in the one good close-up picture I found but they definitely don’t look brown. I’m thinking they look like they might be dark blue (or maybe even gray?) but I’m not quite sure so if anyone knows…help?
> 
> If they're not blue then let me know asap so I can go back and fix that little detail in the fic...


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plaster = bandaid
> 
> also if this chapter had a title it’d be The One With the Dates, there’s _so many dates_ …maybe one day i’ll go back and give ALL the chapters titles like Friends episodes lol

_Liam_

Twelve remembers him.

Twelve _remembers_ him.

Almost exactly a year to the day of the bank incident and Twelve tells Liam he _remembers_ him. Liam tries not to read too much into that or start thinking of it as symbolic but it _feels_ symbolic. Almost as symbolic as the fact that he disappeared all those years ago on a Thursday and came back to Liam of all people, all on his own, on a Thursday.

22 September 2005. The day Liam lost half of himself, a part he never thought he would get back again. The date is seared into his brain, as unforgettable as the memory of Zayn himself but now it’s not the only one.

15 March 2016. The day he locked eyes with Zayn for the first time in over ten years. Zayn, the one person he thought he’d never see again, the one person he thought he’d lost forever.

7 July 2016. The day Zayn came hurtling back into his life permanently only to tear it back down again when Liam realized it wasn’t Zayn coming back to him but someone else, someone who’d been so stripped of his humanity, of all the things that made him _him_ , that he didn’t even recognize his own name.

14 March 2017. The day Twelve tells Liam he remembers him and Liam feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but in a good way.

He can’t even describe the sea of emotions that rolls through him at the words. His stomach does flips but all he can do is sit there in shock, lost for words himself. He’d hoped for it, anticipated it even, but not this soon and certainly not this sudden.

Twelve’s eyes are wide, as if he has surprised even himself, and Liam is sure his own are too. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say but Twelve looks scared or nervous or worried or maybe some combination of the three, it’s hard to tell. And isn’t that a funny thing, Twelve showing so many emotions at once when just a couple of months ago he hadn’t even known what it meant to feel, much less how to actually express emotions outside of flat imitations of them.

“Shit. Okay…okay,” he says. “This is real. This is real. This _is_ real, right? Sorry, sorry, don’t answer that, just…freaking out a little bit right now is all, um…okay…what—um, what do you remember exactly? Like everything or just…just some stuff, or…?”

“Not everything,” Twelve says, looking down at the covers. “Just…pieces.”

Twelve tells Liam about his dreams, not only the one he just woke up from but all of the dreams he’s apparently been having for the last two months, starting the night after his birthday, which Liam supposes Sarah would call the catalyst for all of this. He tries to reason it out from her point of view, thinks of what she said about himself and Twelve’s family being familiar stimuli goading Twelve’s brain to push past whatever they did to him in the bunker. The party must have been the tipping point, he realizes, all of them there at once going through same motions they had every year for Zayn’s birthday when they were kids.

But, _God_ , it feels like a dream, like it’s too good to be true, and even though it’s not everything, even though it’s only bits and pieces, Liam still can’t seem to shake the feeling. Twelve _remembers_ him. He’d thought it might be months, maybe even another year or more before Twelve ever reached this point, if he ever did at all, but here they are. Just sitting in bed in the middle of the night talking about old memories and it’s _so_ surreal. Leaves Liam feeling like he has everything he could’ve ever hoped for, like there’s a chance that he might _really_ get Zayn back. Despite what Sarah had said all those months ago about it being inevitable, he hadn’t wanted to let himself hope too much. Hadn’t dared to even let himself think about it for more than passing moments every now and again, too afraid of getting his own hopes up only to have them dashed down as he waited and waited for something that deep down he secretly feared might never come. But it did. It did. And now Twelve is sitting here, inches away from him, pouring out everything that’s been happening to him these past couple of months, everything he’s been seeing and feeling that he didn’t understand and it’s everything Liam could have ever hoped for and more. By the way Twelve avoids his eyes at certain points he gets the feeling that he’s leaving some things out, maybe things he isn’t ready to tell Liam yet but Liam doesn’t mind. He just hopes that in time Twelve will feel comfortable enough to share those things with him too.

*

The coming weeks after that are tumultuous at best, even more so than the weeks following Twelve’s emotional reawakening, as Liam’s taken to calling it in his head. Twelve’s moods seem even more erratic and definitely much more noticeable. Gone are the days when he would sit at the kitchen counter looking half-distracted and a little down or curled up on the couch silently staring at the floor, fists balled loosely at his sides in half-concealed, half-bottled up anger.

Now he’s much more open, less inhibited when it comes to expressing how he feels and it’s both a blessing and a curse. It’s like the walls he’s been keeping up around himself this entire time have finally started to crumble and everything he’s been keeping bottled up inside is starting to tumble out. Liam figures the change probably has to do with the fact that Twelve actually remembers now just how much he lost, how much was taken from him, how much he’ll never get back. It’s one thing to remember how to feel, but it’s another thing entirely to remember everything that comes with those feelings. All of the memories, painful and happy, of everyone you used to know, and knowing how quickly and how cruelly it was all ripped away, wiped from your mind as if it none of it had ever happened, as if none it _mattered_. He can’t imagine how that must feel, how hard it must be for Twelve to have to claw at the wisps of memories he’s been left with, struggling to put all of the pieces of himself back together again on top of having to reface the horrors that were inflicted on him now that he can actually fully process them all.

He spends a lot of time sleeping, which Liam has finally realized is a good thing because most of his memories come back to him in the form of dreams. Sometimes things will come back to him while he’s awake too, sometimes at random, sometimes prompted by something Liam or someone else has said, or sometimes something on the telly. But more often than not his dreams are where he remembers the most.

Sometimes Liam will find him quietly laughing at something on the telly or some video he’s watching on the iPad. And honestly it still comes as such a surprise to hear him laughing, something Liam used to think he’d never hear again, not the real thing anyway, but that’s another date stamped in his mind—3 April 2017—the first time he heard Twelve laugh again, _really_ laugh, after eleven and half years. But of course it isn’t all rainbows and daisies. Sometimes Liam will find him curled up in bed bawling his eyes out or sitting on the living room floor ripping at the blank pages in his journal out of frustration. Sometimes he’ll find him standing at the kitchen counter staring forlornly out the window, whistling kettle completely ignored beside him. Once he even throws one of his art sets against the wall in a fit of rage.

Luckily, it’s the pencil set so instead of a mess of paint or pastel colors splattered across the wall all he gets for his efforts is a few colored scratches that wash off fairly easily and a bunch of broken pencils. The box itself is a relatively inexpensive thing made mostly of soft plastic which Liam is secretly thankful for because the last thing he needs is a cracked wall, but it also means it can bounce back from pretty much anything with a little bending back into shape instead of ending up completely destroyed like a wooden one would be. And when it’s over and done with Twelve just picks up the pencils and puts them back in the bent up plastic box, re-sharpening the broken ones to use again later.

It’s funny, _this_ is almost what he’d expected back when Twelve first rediscovered his emotions and he remembers waiting with baited breath for it to come only to be met with what seemed like mostly muted and subdued reactions. He’d waited so long for it to come that he feels simultaneously super prepared and not at all prepared. Kind of like when you’re gearing yourself up for some big event or presentation. You’ve walked through everything in your head so many times you feel like you could go through it in your sleep and you’ve been preparing for so long that you’ve lost any of the excitement or nervousness you might’ve felt. But then the actual moment comes and it feels like everything you knew and everything you prepared for just flies right out of your head. That’s kind of how he feels now. But all he can do is try his best to give Twelve some sort of balance, some semblance of normalcy and so he tries to keep a level head as much as he can, stay as calm and collected as he can even in the face of Twelve’s fits and breakdowns, but it’s not easy.

Liam starts to feel like they’ve gone a bit backwards. He’d thought that with Twelve getting more of his memories back he might start to feel more like a person again, not need quite so much structure and supervision. And that’s true to a fault, but it’s like they’ve gone ten steps forward just to take five more back. Sometimes Liam finds himself having to herd Twelve out of bed and into the bathroom to shower or brush his teeth, has to make meals for him on days when he forgets—or neglects, Liam’s not quite sure which it really is—to eat. More and more he’s having to tell Twelve what to do again, order him around like he had when he first came and he doesn’t understand it. He’d been so sure that in remembering himself Twelve would want to start asserting more of his independence, do things on his own again, but instead it’s the exact opposite and Liam can’t figure it out.

He’s stopped reading Twelve’s journals, feeling like now that Twelve’s more aware of himself and better at expressing himself he doesn’t really need to read them anymore. Plus the fact that he’s a little more himself now somehow makes it feel even more like an invasion of his privacy in Liam’s mind. Things had been different when Twelve had had no real sense of privacy or what it meant but now that he remembers what it is, everything feels that much more loaded and Liam thinks, if anything, Twelve’s entitled to his own secrets. He’s earned that right a thousand times over. But it also means he no longer has a window into Twelve’s thought process. He has no idea what’s going on anymore unless Twelve tells him himself and it’s honestly a bit scary how dependent he’d become on Twelve’s journals for insight. Now that he no longer has that to fall back on he feels lost all over again. Like he’s flailing in the middle of open water and there’s a hurricane on one side and a tsunami on the other and nowhere for him to turn to for help. Though he supposes that’s not entirely true because he does have Sarah after all. But like she’s always saying this is uncharted territory and even if some of it may be familiar to her she can’t predict everything.

“Can we talk?” Liam says, stepping tentatively into the bedroom where Twelve sits cross-legged on the bed sketching in the afternoon light. It’s still so strange for Liam to see him drawing or reading comics or poetry, doing all the things he used to do. It’s almost like Liam has to readjust _himself_ , get used to the idea of Twelve becoming more and more like Zayn again even if he still isn’t quite _him_.

“Yes,” Twelve answers, pausing in his sketching to look up at Liam.

Liam sits on the bed across from him, takes a moment to try to figure how best to phrase what he wants to say. “I’ve been trying to figure out why it is it feels like we’re going backwards. I mean you’ve been doing so well in spite of everything, you know? You’re…you’re more _you_ everyday but lately it’s like we keep getting in these situations where I end up ordering you around again and I can’t figure it out. I don’t…I don’t want it to feel like I’m prying or anything but I’m just trying to make sense of all of this and I can’t. I can’t figure it out.”

Twelve fidgets with his pencil for a while, gaze turned down towards his hands before finally speaking. “It feels…safe.” He pauses, seeming deep in thought for a while before he continues again. “Sometimes it feels as if…there is too much in my head. Too many things, too many people, too many…parts…of myself. But orders are simple. I do not have to think or try to remember anything. All I have to do is follow.”

He still speaks sometimes in that half formal way of his. Habit, Liam supposes. But more often than not it’s less so, or a mix like now, and that’s yet another thing Liam is trying to get used to. Feeling like he’s actually talking to someone his own age as opposed to some uppity middle-aged scientist like before. Hearing Twelve use metaphors or take long pauses or say yeah instead of yes—though so far that’s only happened once, but a man can dream—it still throws him off balance sometimes, but in a good way.

“It makes things easier for you, then?” Liam says and he thinks he can kind of understand. He can see how the simplicity of an order could be calming when it’s a constant fight just to remember how you’re expected to respond to something, how you _used_ to respond to it. Or how it might be easier to have someone else do something for you or even make choices for you when you have to wade through what must feel to Twelve like an endless sea of choices, an insurmountable list of responsibilities and tasks to remember to complete. And especially coming from where he had, orders being the only thing he knew for so long, Liam could see how the ease of following an order could sort of be comforting in its own weird way, familiar, like falling back into a routine after veering away from it for so long.

Twelve nods, tugs anxiously at the ends of his hair—which has gotten ridiculously long, reaching the tips of his shoulders now—with the hand that isn’t holding the pencil.

Liam nods too in understanding feeling like he finally gets it when he sees the way Twelve’s shoulders sag, eyes still downcast.

It’s obviously not easy dealing with all that he is, trying to cope with so many things at once on top of remembering to do things like eat or brush his teeth when he’s feeling so low he can barely make it out of bed. It’s hard enough even for people who _haven’t_ been through what Twelve has to keep up basic self-care. So if he needs a little push from time to time in the form an order, or a very firm suggestion as Liam would prefer to think of it, then Liam figures the least he can do is give him that.

*

Liam has been dreading this phone call for a long time but now that Twelve actually remembers them Liam thinks it’s time he finally call his parents and tell them the whole truth. He’s put it off for months and it’s not that he hasn’t talked to them in all that time because then they would definitely know something was up, but he’s forever having to come up with excuses as to why he can’t call more or why he can’t come visit or why _they_ can’t come visit, especially if they’re thinking of trying to surprise him. He still hasn’t told them anything about Twelve beyond the initial the bank incident and he couldn’t exactly just have them dropping by unexpectedly to find the surprise of their lives when Twelve greeted them with a knife to the throat like he probably would have all those months ago, before he started coming back to himself. But all the lying and evading is exhausting and only leaves Liam feeling more and more guilty every time.

He fidgets anxiously with one of the drawer handles in the kitchen, leaning against the island counter as he listens to the line ring. Twelve is sitting on the living room floor reading one of his poetry books, headphones on, the top of his head just barely visible over the couch. Liam’s not sure if he’ll still be able hear their phone conversation or not over his music or if he’s turned it up too loud to overhear anything else. He does that sometimes, says it helps to be able to just drown everything else out in his head and everything around him and just focus on one thing at a time. He’s been even more open with Liam these last few days ever since their talk and it’s like the last of his walls, the last of his stoic resolve, are finally starting to fall away.

“Hi, love, are you alright?” his mum’s voice says suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, Mum, I’m good, yeah. Are you and Dad well?”

“We’re alright. Haven’t heard from you in a while though, we were starting to get worried. I know you’ve been so busy with work and all, love, and that weird new schedule they’ve got you on working overtime all the time and all that but you’ve got to at least take _some_ time for yourself, you know. You barely talk to us anymore and we haven’t seen you in so long.”

Liam winces, feeling immediately guilty for everything he’s been keeping from them but the lie had been a necessary evil. He’s kept it off for so long mostly because he wanted to make sure that Twelve was in a better place before introducing any more new people into his life unnecessarily, which is what they would’ve been to him just a few short weeks ago. But now that Twelve remembers them, has even shared with Liam the few bits and pieces about them that he can recall, Liam thinks it’s time he let them in on all of this. There’s also a tiny part of him that hopes that seeing them again might spark even more memories for Twelve but he’s not getting himself too hung up over it because with how unpredictable this whole journey has been chances are it might not even have much of any affect. He can still hope though.

“Love? Are you alright?”

Liam realizes he’s been quiet for some time, lost in his own thoughts and he hesitates, trying to decide whether or not he should just come right out with everything or ease his way into it, rip the plaster off quickly or peel it off slowly.

“Liam? Is everything okay?”

“Not…um…not really. Or sort of. But…it’s complicated.” He takes a deep breath, tries to steel himself. “I…I don’t really know how to say this…”

“Did something happen again? Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair even though he knows she can’t see him. “No…no, it’s not that, it’s—I…Mum, I—I found Zayn. He’s come back.”

He waits for her to say something, _anything_ , but all he’s met with is complete silence on the other end, not even a rustle or the sound of her breathing. It goes on for so long that he briefly checks to make sure the call is still going. He’s not sure what he was expecting but it definitely wasn’t complete silence and he really hopes she’s not angry with him for keeping this from her.

“Mum? Are you still there?”

“I—yes. Yes, I’m here. I just…I don’t understand…he—I thought he was… _how_?”

Liam sighs, runs a hand through his hair again. “It’s kind of a long story. There are, um…there are some things that I haven’t been entirely…honest with you about. About what happened at the bank and—and after that…”

“What are you saying, Liam?”

“Is, um…is Dad there with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you maybe put me on speaker? If I’m gonna do this, I need you both to hear it from me...”

He tells them everything. Tells them the truth about why he’s been dodging their calls, how Zayn was actually the one to find _him_ , but also the one who attacked him at the bank. Who the people were that he was with during the heist, where he’s been all these years, what happened to him, and all that he’s had to go through since just trying to get back to himself. He skips a lot of the gritty details so it’s mostly just the highlights, major events, otherwise he’d be on the phone for hours and he has to fight to keep it together when he hears even his dad crying in the background but Twelve is watching him now. He’s been on the phone for nearly an hour now and has no idea at what point Twelve tuned in or when he moved from the floor to the couch but he’s there now and Liam doesn’t want to cry in front of him. Christ, why is he such a sap? He needs to get it together. But right now the more important thing is getting through this phone call.

*

Liam thinks about how terrified he used to be that Twelve would never get past the point of speaking more than ten words a day, wouldn't be able to be left alone for any long period of time, or left unattended with anyone other than him or Harry. And truthfully he’s just so thankful and honestly still a little amazed that the small circle of people he can trust around Twelve and most importantly trust _Twelve_ around just seems to keep getting bigger and bigger.

His parents are coming to visit for the first time in almost a year, which is _insane_. He’d had no idea it had been that long, but now that he thinks about it _had_ been only a little over a month after the bank thing, and only a couple of months before Twelve showed up in his flat when they last came. He just can’t believe how much time has actually gone by since all of this first started happening. It’s a crazy kind of mindfuck to realize it’s been over a year since he first saw Twelve in that bank and ended up on a whirlwind of a path that’s changed everything he thought he knew.

It’s a relatively warm Saturday afternoon and the Maliks are already here, crowded around the couch. It’ll be the first time his parents have seen them in over a decade and the first time they’ve spoken in nearly just as long. And that’s not even getting into how they’re going to react when they see Twelve. Liam’s explained to them about the name thing and how Twelve’s still a bit fuzzy on his memories of them and still a bit removed from himself in general. But he’s nowhere near as distant as he was when the Maliks first came to see him, so Liam has high hopes that this isn’t gonna go nearly as awkward as that had been.

Twelve is sat on the floor with the girls, playing some iPad game with Waliyha while Doniya and Safaa cheer each of them on, their parents watching and laughing from the couch. Doniya is Team Waliyha and Safaa is Team Twelve of course, and she yells and pumps her fist in the air in victory when he wins the round.

“You’re such a cheater!” Waliyha exclaims, trying and failing to snatch the iPad out of Twelve’s hand.

“I am _not_ ,” Twelve says, feigning offence.

“Are too! Once a cheater, always a cheater. You never played fair and you know it.”

She crosses her arms and sticks her tongue out at him and Twelve makes a face. “Unsanitary.”

“I think you mean gross.” Safaa giggles.

“Same opposite.”

“Same _difference_ ,” Doniya corrects, taking advantage of his distraction to grab the iPad from him. “My turn.”

Liam hides his grin behind his phone as he snaps a quick picture of them fighting over the iPad like little kids. He’s been sending Harry and the others funny pictures of the four of them all morning.

Doniya corrects Twelve on some other random phrase, laughing as she snatches the iPad back from him a second time and Liam snaps another picture, laughing a little to himself too. Twelve sometimes still gets things mixed up in his head when he’s trying to remember things like a phrase or a saying, and sometimes the wrong word will come out. Usually it’s something close to what he initially meant, though overly formal, but sometimes it’s something random and completely unrelated. Like saying ‘zoo off’ instead of ‘piss off’ like he just did.

Waliyha’s laid out on the floor in hysterics, Safaa curled up beside her giggling while Twelve glares and Doniya ignores them all, engrossed in the game now, or pretending to be anyway. Liam’s not entirely sure. He snaps a picture of the whole scene, Twelve’s angry face and the girls still in fits of giggles on the floor, captions it with _‘zoo off’ (prety sure he ment piss off hahaha xD)_ , and hits send.

Louis responds immediately with a gif of Adele laughing until she falls over.

 _oh god_ , Harry sends with five cry-laughing emojis and then, _I hope he knows no one is ever gonna let him live that down._

 _lmaooo think I found my next catchphrase_ , Sarah says with a winky face and another cry-laughing emoji.

 _zoo off motherfuckers I’m trying to sleep!_ comes last from Niall.

There’s a knock on the door and everyone scrambles up from the floor, quickly dusting themselves off and making themselves look presentable. Twelve follows Liam to the door, eyes wide, looking a little nervous.

“Relax,” Liam says softly, hand on the doorknob as he smiles reassuringly at Twelve. “Everything will be fine.”

“What if I say something wrong?”

Liam grins. “What, like ‘zoo off’?”

Twelve glares. “I’m serious.”

“You’ll be fine. And I doubt they’d care either way, they’re just excited to see you.”

“But I’m _not_ me. Not the one they remember anyway.”

Still smiling, Liam braces his hands on Twelve’s shoulders, says, “Twelve. Stop worrying. That’s an order. Everything is going to be fine. _You’ll_ be fine. Unless you keep me from opening this door for another five minutes in which case they _might_ be a little upset.”

Twelve takes a step back as if clearing space for Liam to open the door but really he’s more just half-hiding behind Liam. Liam smiles to himself, shaking his head, but goes to open the door anyway.

He’s greeted by his parent’s smiling faces and his mum immediately leans in for a hug.

“Hi, love,” she says, squeezing him tight.

“Hey, Mum.”

“Oh, I’ve missed you.” She pulls back, patting at his sides. “Have you been eating alright? You look a bit thin.”

“Leave the boy be, Karen, we’ve only just got here.” His dad chuckles, turning to Liam and giving him a curt nod before he leans in for a hug of his own, clapping Liam on the back. “How are you, son?”

“I’m good, Dad, thanks.”

When they break apart Liam turns back to usher Twelve forward but when he glances over his shoulder Twelve isn’t there. He’s shifted over to Liam’s other side standing a few feet behind the half open door, just out of his parents’ sight.

“Come on,” Liam mouths, beckoning him over. Twelve hesitates a moment before shuffling forward slowly, edging back around to Liam’s other side, still hovering half behind him.

“Oh my gosh,” Liam’s mum says, hand flying over her mouth. Liam opens the door a little further to let them in and she takes a moment to compose herself before she’s stepping through the doorway and taking Twelve’s face in her hands. “Oh, look at you. _God_ , you’re so grown up! So _handsome_. Isn’t he handsome, Geoff?”

His dad laughs, nodding but Twelve still looks nervous, like he’s afraid she’s going to follow it up with something bad about him. She coos over him a little longer, wraps him up in a gentle hug and then moves aside to let Liam’s dad get a hug in too, beaming at the two of them.

“Guess I’d better watch out,” his dad says when he pulls back again, chuckling. “Giving me a run for my money with that beard. Might have to start growing mine out again just to compete.”

That finally cracks a small smile out of Twelve and as his parents move on to bombarding the rest of the Maliks with hugs and greetings (and a few tears), glancing back at Twelve reverently every few seconds like they still can't quite believe he's real, Liam bumps his shoulder good-naturedly into Twelve’s.

“See? Told you it’d be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CHECK OUT[THE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING MOODBOARD DOVEZIAM MADE FOR THIS FIC](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166915995788/presenting-the-twelve-fic-moodboard) IT IS TOO PERFECT I PROMISE YOU WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED AND ALSO [THIS REALLY COOL TWELVE-INSPIRED GIF SHE MADE!](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166916517043/twelve-silence)**
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the all caps and the bold but they were totally necessary! 
> 
> Also fyi, my twelve fic inspo tag is [here](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/twelve-inspo) if you wanna see more of how I kind of imagine certain characters and settings in the fic
> 
> And for anyone who may have missed it before, a general timeline of major events in the fic can be found [here](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166478480328/twelve-fic-timeline) if you’re interested


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long one but enjoy!  
> Happy November! :)

_Zayn_

Twelve stares at his reflection in the mirror, takes in every minute detail, every little change, looks at the reflection of the razor in his hand and thinks back to a time when he was much younger. When his jaw was slimmer, face smaller, cheekbones less prominent. When he used to sneak into his parents’ bathroom while they were out and practice this in the mirror with a bottle of his dad’s shaving lather and a hand-me-down play shaving kit from his cousin. He’d felt so proud of himself, so grown up, he remembers, even though there had been nothing to shave and the razor had been made out of nothing but cheap plastic, but now he has to learn to use the real thing.

It’s his first time shaving without Liam’s help and it feels strange as he presses the razor to his own skin. Liam’s left him alone ‘for privacy’ as he put it, rambling on about how this is an important milestone in a man’s life and how the first time should be done in solitude. Twelve definitely doesn’t remember his own father saying anything like that but perhaps he was too young for that kind of speech. Or perhaps Liam’s father did things differently and passed along the tradition in his own unique way. Regardless, he’s on his own for this and he watches as the foam-covered clumps of hair fall into the sink revealing smooth patches of skin underneath. He pays careful attention to his jawline and the area beneath his chin, gliding the razor slowly and steadily, movements careful and precise, until there is no more hair to be shaved away. When he is done he rinses his face and steps out of the bathroom, finding himself greeted with raised eyebrows and a smile from Liam.

“First time and not a scratch. Impressive. Although I guess I shouldn’t really be all that surprised considering your likely superior knife skills and your perfect…everything. Honestly, I’m beginning to think there’s literally nothing you’re not good at.”

“It feels weird,” he says, rubbing at his bare face.

“Yeah, that’s probably because I don’t usually shave it quite that close when I’ve done it. But it’s a bit of a trial and error thing.” Liam shrugs, smiles again. “You’ve got plenty of time to figure out which way you like it best.”

He thinks he prefers it best how it was but there’s nothing he can do about that now so he just nods.

He eats three helpings of the breakfast of eggs, turkey bacon, and waffles Liam made and Liam takes his empty plate with a small smile, says, “You’re gonna eat me out of house and home before long.”

“House and home?” he says, confused about the need to use both.

“It’s an expression,” Liam says as he shakes his head dismissively. “It just means you eat a lot.”

“Oh,” Twelve replies a little dejectedly. He doesn’t remember that particular idiom. Had he heard it before and he simply doesn’t remember? Or could it have been one of those things that he would have been more likely to hear when he was a little older, had he been given that chance? He isn’t sure. “Did people ever say that around us? When we were younger? Have I heard it before?”

Liam’s brows draw together in thought. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I can’t really remember for sure, but it’s not a big deal or anything. I’m sure there’s lots of weird expressions out there even _I_ still haven’t heard of.”

Twelve pauses, contemplates for a moment. “I remember ‘taking the piss’ and ‘does my bum look big in this’ and ‘that’s hot,’ and also ‘buttering your muffin,’ though I can’t remember what that last one meant, but I don’t remember much more than those, most of the time I just kind of rely on things I’ve heard you all say.”

He tries to think back, to see if he can recall the meaning of that one phrase on his own, but sometimes his mind is like a war, one side fighting against the other, The Boy against the operative. Sometimes he’ll remember something, or a part of a thing, or he’ll start to say something and it won’t come out right. Sometimes it is just residual programming, things he has said or done a certain way for so long that they’re hard to shake, almost instinctual, like using unabbreviated forms of words. But other times it is like at the last moment the operative part of him takes hold of it and the wrong thing comes out, still something close but not quite right he knows, and he can’t remember what the right thing is. Other times it feels like things just get scrambled and the wrong thing altogether comes out, something not at all close to what he meant or even contradictory. Sometimes he’ll be just on the edge of remembering something only to have it ripped away again, blocked off, like that part of his mind is being momentarily shut off or locked away. Still other times it’ll seem as if things are coming to him so freely and quickly he cannot keep up, but this isn’t one of those times.

Liam’s smiling a little but his checks are red. “Yeah, um…maybe just keep that last one between us because if anyone else hears you say it they’ll never let it go.”

“What does it mean?”

Liam focuses on a spot on the counter he is scrubbing at, cheeks still tinted. “I think it would probably be better if you just…look that one up on your own maybe. Like alone.”

Alone. It seems he is always doing things alone these days. Shaving alone, showering alone, figuring things out alone, eating alone, crying alone, sitting at home alone while Liam is at work, sometimes even sleeping alone on days when he cannot seem to wake up at a decent hour.

He doesn’t remember ever feeling so alone before but maybe he had. Maybe this is just another one of those things that is considered normal. He doesn’t know, can’t remember. He wishes getting better didn’t have to be so confusing.

*

Liam finds him drawing on the living room floor one afternoon after coming back from a grocery run and Twelve isn’t sure when he first started to finally really _feel_ that bright weightless, calming feeling again that he always used to get from drawing. Thinks maybe like the sadness it creeped up on him slowly sometime after that first bubble of laughter left his chest. But he knows that he feels it tenfold whenever Liam is watching. Like he suddenly has even more of a reason to keep going, to pour himself into it.

Liam sits cross-legged on the floor a few feet away and watches him shade and blend and darken, small smile settling on his face.

“Who is it?” he says when Twelve’s done adding the finishing touches.

“He was one of my Handlers. The one I had the longest. Handler D.”

“Oh,” Liam says, nodding but he looks suddenly uncomfortable and Twelve realizes he must be thinking of all the things Twelve used to write about in his journals back when Liam was still reading them, what he’d said about what some of the Handlers used to have him do.

“He wasn’t like the others,” Twelve says, hoping Liam understands what he means. “He was always kind. The way he was, it…reminds me a bit of you, actually. How you were when I first came. He always talked to me like…like I was a person instead of an operative. If I didn’t understand something he would always explain it to me in a way that made sense instead of getting upset at me or making fun of me. He would ask me how I was a lot, if I was okay, especially after missions, and I didn’t understand it at the time but I suppose that was kind of his way of checking in on me. And he always chose nice rewards for the team when we did well on missions, even though most of the time they were things we didn’t understand the use for. He gave us soda once, let us play with yo-yo’s and other things I can’t remember the names for…funny putty?”

“Silly putty, you mean?”

“Yes, that was it. And rubix cubes and jacks and…sorry. I—I can’t remember the names of the others.” He picks at the carpet dejectedly, feels like crying, or maybe throwing something, or both even though it’s a small thing that doesn’t deserve that kind of reaction. He just hates this feeling, like he can’t ever do anything right because everything in his head is so messed up. Sometimes he can take it in stride, laugh about it even, like the whole zoo off thing. But other times it feels crushing not being able to say what he means because everything’s so scrambled, having to depend on everyone else to correct him or say it for him.

“That’s okay,” Liam says gently, “maybe we can figure it out together. Why don’t you try and describe some?”

“There was, um…there was a game where you had to slide the scrambled pieces around to make a picture, and a long metal spiral thing that flipped over itself, small colored cubes that stacked together, a small screen where you had to turn the knobs to make lines…”

“Well, I’m not sure about the first one, or if it’s what I think it is then I don’t know if it even has a name, but the others sound like maybe a slinky? And legos and an etcher-sketch maybe? Do those sound right?”

“Yeah,” he says but he can’t manage to keep the sadness out of his voice now. “He was always bringing us things like that. At first he said we had to keep it secret. He was worried if the Director found out he would get in trouble but it didn’t matter because the Director found out anyway from one of the other Handlers who was always angling for a promotion. He called Handler D and the whole team to his office and demanded Handler D tell him in his own words what he’d been doing with us for the reward period. And then he picked one of the operatives out at random and questioned her too just to make sure Handler D was telling the truth and told us he’d be present for our next couple of reward periods. He came and watched us try to puzzle out the rubix cubes and replicate the right movements of the yo-yo’s and I think he found it amusing. I guess it must have been, watching a bunch of adolescent assassins trying to figure out how to work a child’s toy. Anyway, those were the kinds of things Handler D would do for us. That was how he was. He was always doing things that at the time I thought were strange and unbefitting of a Handler but I realize now he was just being kind.”

“That’s really nice. That he was so kind to you guys while you were there, I mean, but…it’s also a little weird, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if he really was that nice,” Liam says, “if he didn’t have any other kind of ulterior motives for being there, why sign up for that kind of job in the first place?”

“He didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“He didn’t want to be there,” Twelve says.

“He told you that?”

“Yes. He often told me things I don’t think he was supposed to. Handlers and operatives weren’t really supposed to talk about anything outside of missions or protocols, but he was always…bending the rules I guess you’d call it. I think maybe talking to me was kind of safe in a way because he could tell me anything and he knew I wouldn’t tell anyone. Plus he didn’t really seem to get along with most of the other Handlers. I don’t know if everyone’s story was the same or if they used different methods to recruit them all, or if maybe some of them were even volunteers but it definitely seemed like most of them had a certain…temperament that he didn’t.

“He told me he first applied after he saw an advertisement online for a job in government security. He’d been out of work for a while and was starting to get desperate when he saw it. I remember he said he couldn’t believe it because it was exactly what he was looking for and it seemed too good to be true. He already had previous experience working as a security guard and he was looking for a job with the government because he thought it would be more stable but every other listing he saw required more qualifications than he had except this one. Plus they offered to train everyone they hired so they could be more prepared and qualified for any future jobs.

Anyway, after he got through the interview they told him on the spot that he’d been hired and all he had to do was fill out the proper paperwork and he could start right away. When he looked it over he said it looked pretty much like a standard work contract but it was missing a few pages. The interviewer kept assuring him that the missing pages were just more standard stuff and promised he’d get Handler D a copy of them as soon as he could. But he claimed to be running late for another meeting and said if Handler D didn’t sign the contract right then, he wouldn’t be eligible for the job because they had a lot of other candidates already lined up just waiting to take his place if he didn’t. So he signed and everything seemed normal for the first couple of weeks, he was getting paid regularly and everything, but every time he asked around about the missing pages of his contract…”

“Let me guess, they gave him the runaround?” Liam says.

Twelve nods.

“Yeah, that’s generally how things go with the government. I know _that_ from experience. It’s a wonder they get _anything_ done, honestly. Must not have taken him too long to figure out something was up?”

“It was when they started Phase II of their training. I don’t know much about the Handlers’ training process. Most of what I do know is from what he told me or things I overheard the other Handlers or program personnel talking about from time to time, but from what I understand Phase I is fairly generic. De-escalation techniques and basic disarming and apprehending procedures. How to diffuse a situation or distract someone long enough to get their weapon away from them, take down a volatile suspect, that sort of thing.”

“Oh yeah, sure, just your basic run of the mill stuff,” Liam says, nodding mockingly with an overly serious expression.

Twelve throws a colored pencil at him and Liam laughs.

“Excuse you,” he says, tossing the pencil back. “Do I need to disarm _you_ of your arsenal of colored pencils?”

“No, but it would be fun to watch you try,” Twelve says, aiming another one so it hits Liam square in the shoulder.

“Rude,” Liam says.

“So are you for interrupting my story.”

Liam rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “Alright, well, go on, then.”

“Like I was saying Phase I was pretty generic, probably a lot of the same kind of things anyone might expect to be trained for in a security position I would guess, but Phase II is when the sort of…indoctrination would start. They’d start seeding them information about the program and make it seem like it’s all…I can’t remember the phrase…above council?”

“Above board?”

“Right. Above board. They made it seem like it was all above board, like all of the operatives were trained soldiers, which I guess in a way was sort of true, but they didn’t tell them how old any of us were or how we got there. They would bring groups of Handlers-in-training into our sparring sessions so they could see us in action and explain to them that they’d be working with us to take down rogue government and military agents, criminals, and terrorists, that sort of thing. We always knew when they were coming because they would always escort the younger operatives out first so the new Handlers only saw the older operatives, the ones that looked of age I guess. They would start the Handlers on a more intense training regimen then and essentially preach to them about how they were going to be helping society, saving innocent lives, making the world a better place and all that, and Phases III and IV were pretty much more of the same I think, just more intense and combat heavy.

Anyway, that’s when Handler D said he started to feel like something was off. He’d given up on the copies of the contract after the first few weeks because he was tired of getting passed along and he figured as long as he was getting paid and getting good training there was nothing to worry about. But by three months in when they started transitioning them into Phase II and showing them around the bunker and giving all these speeches about how they were helping to protect the country that’s when everything started to feel a bit too ‘dystopian-novelly’ to him. That was the word he used and I had no idea what he meant at the time, but I could tell even then by the way he said it that it meant something bad. He said he kept convincing himself that he was just being paranoid, but when he finally got through Phase IV and officially started as a Handler that’s when he saw everything for what it was. Once Handlers pass training they’re allowed to roam free and unattended through the bunker instead of just their designated training areas and that’s when he saw that some of the ‘soldiers’ were kids and started noticing how all the ones he tried to talk to wouldn’t say much more than rote responses.”

“Why didn’t he leave? Once he found out what he was really hired for, I mean.”

“Because he was afraid of being terminated. They all were.”

“Terminated? As in fired?”

“As in killed.”

Liam’s eyes are wide and he stares at Twelve unblinking.

“That surprises you?” Twelve says, curious.

“Yes. No. I mean, I guess it _shouldn’t_ , but it does. I knew they were capable of some pretty horrible things in the program but I guess I never thought that they would go _that_ far, especially not for the Handlers since I always figured up until now that they were in it willingly. It makes sense though in a fucked up kind of way that they would be willing to do something like that even to their own employees to make sure nothing about the program got out. But how did Handler D find out? About the whole getting killed if you try to leave thing, I mean.”

“He started asking around about who to talk to if he wanted to resign and everyone kept telling him he didn’t _want_ to resign but he thought they were all still just trying to indoctrinate him. Like it was just another one of those program lines being used by the staff and other Handlers to try to convince him to stay. He didn’t realize until he finally managed to get a meeting with the Director that they were actually all trying to warn him. The Director showed him the missing pages of his contract where it stated that if he resigned or otherwise tried to escape or did anything to compromise the program in any way he was subject to termination of life at the discretion of the Director or any agents acting on his will in his absence.”

“ _Jesus_ , I guess in a way they were almost as much prisoners as you guys were, just in a different way. Though admittedly they had it much better obviously. I mean, they were being forced to live a lie and be an accessory to all kinds of horrible things under the threat of their lives, but at least they got paid and got to go back home to their families at night.”

“Yeah,” Twelve says and he wants to add that at least they got to keep their minds too but he thinks maybe Liam left that part out on purpose so as not to be a constant reminder—even if Twelve still can’t stop _himself_ from automatically thinking it—and he kind of appreciates that.

*

Liam is angry with him. Twelve broke his favorite tea mug and he hadn’t known it was Liam’s favorite but he should have seeing as Liam drinks out of it more often than not. He hadn’t meant to do it, he’s usually so careful, but he’d been making himself a cup of chamomile tea before bed to help him sleep after three restless nights in a row when Liam had come out of the bathroom, freshly showered after going for a run earlier and in only his pajama bottoms. He’d gripped the mug a little too hard in his surprise and the next thing he knew it was in pieces.

He cleaned it up quickly and apologized a million times and Liam forgave him and said it wasn’t a big deal but Twelve can tell he’s still upset about it. Liam woke up early this morning and Twelve can hear him now banging around in the kitchen loudly, letting out annoyed huffs every now and then. He doesn’t say good morning when Twelve walks past to get to the bathroom and Twelve stands there under the spray of the shower and tries to think of ways he can make Liam happy again, make it up to him. That used to be his job, he used to be good at it. He can’t remember how or what he did, that piece is missing, but he knows he did it, knows it usually worked as sure as he remembers Liam’s smile, his laughter. It echoes in his head almost as if it’s taunting him and he wishes he could remember how to fix this.

Liam goes out for another run and as soon as he’s gone Twelve goes straight for the trash. He pulls out all of the pieces of the mug he can find, even the really tiny ones, dumps them in a bowl to wash them off, and then meticulously glues them back together with the help of toothpicks and the tiny bottle of super glue he found in the back of what Liam calls his junk drawer. He hides it in the nightstand drawer to dry since he figures it’s the least likeliest place for Liam to be looking in during the day and while Liam’s in the shower later that night he takes it back out and fills it up under the hot tap to test it. There’s a small chip missing at the very top from one of the smaller pieces he couldn’t manage to find so it can’t fill up all the way anymore but it still holds and he leaves it in the middle of the counter with an apology note. Sits on his side of the bed anxiously waiting while he tries and fails to focus on the electronic book he’s been reading on the iPad.

Liam comes in shirtless again and Twelve nearly cracks the device in half but he catches himself at the last minute and loosens his grip, schools his face into a neutral expression and turns his gaze back to the letters on the screen, which look like gibberish now because if he couldn’t focus before he definitely can’t now.

Liam sits across from him and clears his throat and Twelve looks up, stares very resolutely at his face and only his face.

“So, I saw the mug…and the note, and it was incredibly sweet of you to do that so thank you, but I wanted you to know you don’t have to apologize. If anything it’s me that should apologize. I should’ve said this earlier but I didn’t realize how much you were blaming yourself for all of this and that’s on me for not paying attention like I should have and being so distracted.” Liam pauses, sighs, looks up at him again. “It’s not you I’m mad at, I’m just really stressed at work and it’s been one of those weeks where it feels like everything is going wrong and the mug just happened to be the thing that tipped the scale. I’m really sorry if I made you feel like this was all on you just because of what happened with the mug. I didn’t even realize how passive-aggressive I was being and I realize now how everything must’ve looked from your perspective with how much of a moody twat I was being. Anyway, I’m sorry and I promise to still use my favorite broken mug every chance I get cause it _is_ really cute. Are we okay?”

He’s smiling now and Twelve smiles too. “Yes, we’re okay.”

“Good.” Liam nods, wishing him good night as he turns out the light and settles in and Twelve does the same.

                                                                             *

Twelve is sitting on the couch with Louis who’s busy playing a game on his phone, legs sprawled out across the cushions so his toes are digging under Twelve’s thighs. Niall and Harry have pushed the coffee table back and are lying star-fished on the floor, eyes closed, reaching out to poke each other in the nose every so often at random intervals. He thinks maybe it’s some sort of secret game but he’s not sure. Liam is zoned into his computer, tuning everyone out while he finishes up something for work and Twelve is supposed to be reading a new book Harry bought for him on the iPad, had been up until a few minutes ago, but now he watches Louis. He makes such weird and interesting facial expressions while he’s playing and it’s rather entertaining. Twelve knows he shouldn’t be staring but it’s another one of those things he can’t seem to quite turn off. Half the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until he catches himself or someone catches _him_. And even the times he _is_ aware of it it’s almost like he can’t seem to bring himself to stop. People are just so interesting, the minute movements of the lines and creases in their face, the tiny quirk of their lips and crinkle of their brow, the twitch of their nose or shift of their jaw, from the tiniest movements to the largest ones, it never ceases to fascinate him.

“You know, I thought by now you’d be over the staring,” Louis says, dropping his phone to his chest.

Twelve shrugs. “Habit.”

“Mmm, so you say. I know I have a very beautiful face and it’s very nice to look at but methinks you just secretly enjoy making me uncomfortable.” He punctuates his point by kicking at Twelve’s thigh with his socked feet.

Twelve smirks. “Maybe. You’ll never know.”

Louis scoffs, mouth open. “You’re horrible,” he says, poking at him again with his foot except this time he goes all over, poking at Twelve’s sides and up his arm. “Where’s the button that makes you go back to the robot version? I liked him better. He had manners and a decent sense of humor, unlike _some_ people.”

“That actually is a fair point,” Niall says from the floor, lifting a finger in the air as he sits up with a big grin. “But that Twelve never would’ve given us gems of pure comedic gold like ‘zoo off.’”

Twelve glares, making sure to display the maximum amount of annoyance on Niall’s behalf.

“Jesus, you know you look downright murderous when you do that?” Niall shivers.

“Yeah, I think that’s kinda the point,” Harry says with a laugh from beside him.

“Only difference is _he_ might actually do it, so I’d watch myself if I were you, Niall,” Louis adds. “Might wanna start sleeping with one eye open.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Oh, bugger off, Lou, if he _were_ to murder anyone we all know _you’d_ be the first one on the list.”

Liam looks up from his laptop and blinks at them all. “Well, that…definitely took an unexpected turn. How about we talk about something else now? I think I’d like some crisps, would anyone else like some crisps? Good, great. I’m gonna go do that now and when I get back I severely hope the conversation will have changed to something a lot less morbid, yeah? Yeah. Okay, good talk.”

Liam claps his hands and dashes over to the kitchen but Louis just turns back to Twelve and says, “So, hypothetically speaking, if you _had_ to kill all of us, how would you do it and in what order from first to last? Also, would you kill all of us the same way or would you do it different ways for each of us cause I think I’d prefer mine to be unique and…”

*

Liam pushes open the lobby door and Twelve makes sure his hood is draped securely around his face before he steps outside after him. It’s warm and the sun is high and Liam pauses a moment, face tilted up toward the sky as he takes a deep breath in.

“God, I feel like I haven’t seen the sun in a _month_ ,” he says turning to grin at Twelve. He’s been working long hours these past couple of weeks on some project Twelve doesn’t really understand, leaving almost as soon as the sun is up and not getting home until it’s nearly down. It’s the reason he’s been so stressed lately and it’s been hard on Twelve too being alone so much but he keeps that to himself as he watches Liam shield his eyes from the bright sunlight with a hand over his brow. “Where should we go today?”

“Comic book shop.”

“Of course.” Liam grins. “And how about the park after?”

“Yeah.”

Liam nods, heading in the direction of the little shop as he twirls his keys around his fingers and Twelve makes sure to keep his face angled away from certain buildings as they walk.

The comic book shop is small and he likes it because it doesn’t have any cameras since it’s fairly cheap and they already give away some of their older issues for free in a box by the door. As the owner had put it once when some other customer had noisily complained about ‘the dodgy-looking guy in the corner with the hoodie’ in reference to Twelve, anyone who feels the need to steal from a comic book shop has larger issues they need to be worried about. Like why they’re stealing from a comic book shop. Especially one that already gives things away for free. If anyone’s gonna steal, he’d said, they’re gonna do it from one of the bigger shops that actually sells collectibles and things worth more than a couple of pounds. So as long as the shop was in his possession all dodgy-looking characters were welcome and any judgmental arseholes with sticks up their bums who had a problem with that could kindly take their leave.

Twelve likes him.

He gets into long discussions and rants with customers about the storylines of obscure characters and the scientific veracity of their powers and he always compliments Twelve on his choice of comics and on his hoodies even though it’s usually one of the same three that he rotates. His name is Jerry but Liam calls him Nice Jerry so as not to mix him up with his ill-mannered landlord and they come so often now that he’s started giving them discounts. Although Liam usually just pays him the difference anyway by leaving it in the tip jar.

They leave with a bag full of comics and head to the park where they sit in the grass and read and it reminds him of a half broken-off memory. Him and Liam in Liam’s own backyard laid out half on top of each other at the foot of the big, lone tree in the corner of the yard, comic books in hand. He’d gotten only a glimpse of the memory before it was gone again, shifting into another one, but he longs for the closeness and sense of completeness he’d felt in that moment. Like everything was perfect and nothing could go wrong because Liam was there, head leaned against the back of his younger self’s shoulder, short hairs tickling his arm, and they were happy and free without a care in the world. He wishes he could go back to that moment now, feel what it’s like to be that little boy again, but he can’t. That boy is just a small part of him now, the echo of him preserved in half-formed hazy memories with a million gaps and pieces missing in between alongside the operative and whatever weird amalgamation of them both that he is now.

*

Twelve is helping Liam dry off and put up the now freshly cleaned dishes that had been piled in the sink from breakfast and lunch when Liam says it.

He’s just handed Liam the last of the plates to put in the cupboard and is reaching for one of the mugs to dry but his hand never gets further than the edge of the sink because Liam speaks before he has the chance.

“Look at us, washing and drying like a little dish-washing team. You know, if someone had told me a few months ago that one day soon you’d actually be helping me wash dishes I probably would’ve thought they were just taking the piss, but I guess it’s about time you started to earn your keep around here,” Liam says with a laugh and suddenly everything in his mind goes foggy, vision blurring as he drops to his knees, the only thing still in focus the trousers in front of him.

He must unbutton them. He must.

He must. He must. He must.

He is distantly aware that there are hands grabbing onto his wrists. Someone is trying to hold his hands still. Or push them away. He is not sure. He does not know. All he knows is that he must unbutton the trousers. He must.

He must. He must. He must.

There is a sound penetrating the fog in his mind. A far-away sound. A voice. Someone is telling him to stop. They will not let him. They have said the _words_ but they will not let him. He is empty, hollow. His mouth is empty. Something is supposed to be there. Something _should_ be there. But they will not let him. They will not let him. Why won’t they let him? It is his purpose. He must.

He must. He must. He must.

He is moving. He does not does know when this happened or why, but he is moving. Someone is moving him. The ground is far away. They will not let him. They will not let him touch. They will not let him fill the void. But he must. He must.

He is being punished.

He must. He must. He must. But they will not let him.

They are punishing him. Why?

Why? Why? Why?

He must fill the void. Why can’t he?

The _words_. He must obey. Follow. Follow orders. He has to follow. He was made to follow. Always follow.

He must. He must.

They will not let him.

He is trapped. He is trapped in the fog. He is sinking.

He must obey. But they will not let him. When will they let him?

Why? Why? Why?

He is sinking further. Sinking. The fog. He is trapped.

There is only one way out.

He must. But he cannot. Why?

He must.

He is lost.

But he must.

He must. He must.

Sinking. Lost. Everything is black.

He is nothing.

Black. Black. Black.

Everything is still.

*

He startles awake with something akin to a gasp, his surroundings coming into sharp focus so quickly that he grows dizzy. He is lying on a couch in a strange room. His clothes are damp. He is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but from what he does not remember. He looks down. No black. These are not his mission clothes. White socks, soft grey trousers, a plain white short-sleeved shirt. These are civilian clothes. He should not be wearing civilian clothes.

He looks up. There is a man sitting on a chair a few feet away. The man is watching him, looking at him with something like concern on his face.

This is a test. They are testing him.

The Director—no, there is no Director. Not anymore.

Who is in charge? He does not know. He does not remember.

He had a mission. The man was his mission.

No, that is not right either.

His mission. What was his mission? He does not remember.

The fog. The man did something to him.

Liam. The man’s name is Liam. Liam did something to him.

The fog. The void. Liam would not let him fill the void.

But that was not his mission.

His mission. His mission was…to do something. To recall something.

He looks at Liam and Liam looks back at him.

“Hey,” Liam says, his tone soft as if speaking to a child, “you back with me?”

Twelve does not understand what Liam means by the question or why he is asking it. He does not know how to answer it, but the words jar something loose in his mind. _Back with Liam_. He is _back with Liam_. He knows somehow that this is important but he cannot remember why. He remembers the fog, the black, the void—the one Liam would not let him fill—and then this.

With Liam. _Back with Liam_. Yes. That is where he is. That is where he is supposed to be. Supposed to be? No. Supposed to remember. Remember something.

 _Back with Liam_.

The mission. Remember. Remember something. Remember what?

 _Back with Liam_.

The mission.

Liam is watching him again. “Twelve? Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

 _No_.

He does not know where that thought came from. All physical signs indicate that he is fine.

 _Not fine_.

Liam watches him, eyebrows crinkled in concern.

The mission. He must remember.

“How about I go make some tea, yeah? It might help you feel better.”

He watches Liam get up and go to the stove, moving around in the kitchen as he collects mugs and spoons and sets a kettle on the stove.

Liam.

 _Back with Liam_.

The mission.

_The only mission that matters now._

He does not know where that thought came from either.

 _Remember_.

He has to remember. Remember something. No. Not something. Some _one_.

Remember.

_Is that my mission?_

Remember.

 _The only mission_.

Remember.

_The only mission that matters now._

Remember _._

_Back with Liam._

Remember.

Remember the mission.

 _Remember_.

Yes. _Remember_. Remember _Liam_. Remember _himself_.

But not this version of himself. Not the one that was made, but the one that was not. The one that knew how to smile. And…how to make Liam smile, how to make Liam happy. Had he made Liam happy? Yes. That was his mission. Before. No. Not mission. Job. There is a difference.

Someone is screaming inside his head. A man. Or a boy. Or both.

Him?

No. Not quite. A part of him.

The Boy. Yes. He remembers The Boy. The Boy was important. The Boy had been in charge before. No. Not in charge. Not fully. That had been someone else. The Boy had been stronger then, stronger even than himself, but the other one was in charge, The Man. Now they are both locked away, The Boy and The Man. Now _he_ is in charge.

The Boy wants control again. So does The Man, but they will not have it. The operative is in charge now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooo sorry about this chapter, this legitimately was not meant to turn into a freaking expose on Handler D. Like I initially had just one short paragraph briefly explaining his situation and that was gonna be it but then I decided it would be good idea to add just a _teensy tiny_ bit of backstory and this whole thing just fucking exploded in my face and the next thing I knew I had _6 damn pages worth_ of backstory about Handler D’s violin-solo-worthy life story and his foray into the program life and yeah. sorry. I’m a hot mess and the most problematic child.
> 
> Anyway, chapter 35 will be coming **very soon** so be on the lookout!


	35. Chapter 35

_Liam_

“He—Christ, he, um, he tried…he tried to—” Liam cuts himself off, runs a hand over his face and squeezes his eyes shut, needing to get a breath out before he can continue. “He tried to—to give me a—a blowjob.” He can hardly even bring himself to say it out loud and the last part comes out as a barely more than a whisper.

“He tried to _what_?” Sarah says back in a harsh whisper of her own, clearly in disbelief.

“It was my fault, I think. I, um…in the bunker they had these phrases, code words they called them, that they used to use to…program the operatives to do certain things, like an automatic response. He talked about it in his journals a few times but he never said what they were and I was always too afraid to ask in case I accidentally triggered something, but I guess I did anyway and, I don’t know, the next I knew he was on his knees trying to undo my fly and I had to practically fight him off.” Liam drops his head into his hands, pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He’s perched on the end of his bed, Sarah on the other side, having just finished looking Twelve over and she waits patiently for him to continue.

“He passed out once I got him to the couch and he was out for probably an hour but when he woke up he was acting funny. Just kept staring at me and only saying anything to me when I asked him something and that’s when I realized it was like he was back to how he was _before_. Dead eyes, monotone responses, one-word answers. I sent him to bed hoping whatever it was I triggered would maybe wear off or something once he got some sleep but when I came in a little while ago to start getting ready for bed myself he was sweating and shaking and his eyes were rolled back. I don’t even know how long he’d been like that, it could’ve been _hours_. I should’ve checked on him earlier but I just assumed he’d be fine while he was asleep.”

Sarah shakes her head. “It’s okay, you didn’t know. But from how you described it on the phone it sounds like he might have been seizing. The good news is it sounds like it was mild, but his heart rate is elevated and he definitely has a fever. His temperature’s not dangerously high yet but if it gets any higher we may be in trouble. D’you have any ice packs or frozen vegetables? We need to try and keep his core temperature down for as long as we can. I’ll get his kit off, you go get whatever you can find.”

Liam nods, rushing out to the fridge to grab every frozen thing he can get his hands on and some ziploc bags to the dump the loose ice in.

Sarah’s gotten Twelve down to his boxers by the time Liam comes back and they place everything as evenly as they can over and around his body.

There’s nothing they can do after that but wait.

Eventually Harry and Louis show up, both in their pajamas, hair mussed like they just jumped out of bed and came straight over which they probably did. It’d been a little past midnight when Liam texted them not really expecting an answer considering how late it was, more just as a precaution to let them know something was up in case things got worse and Twelve needed to go to the A&E. But then Harry was calling him panicked, demanding to know what happened, Louis in the background yelling down the phone and he had to try and get what little of the story he could out in between their constant interruptions.

 _As soon as my shift’s up I’m coming over,_ Niall texts him only a few minutes after Louis and Harry’s arrival, _but if it gets any more serious before then I’m begging out, fuck these alcoholics and their shitty tips._

Sarah had called him of course and filled him in when she was on the way over to Liam’s earlier but Niall’s still working a shift at the pub and won’t be done till two.

The rest of them sit around the living room drinking tea and waiting anxiously while Sarah goes in and out of the bedroom every now and then to check and see if there’s been any change.

It isn’t until around half past five in the morning when Twelve’s temperature finally starts to go down. All the ice and frozen dinners and packets of vegetables from Liam’s freezer have long since melted and Louis and Harry had had to go out on two runs to the nearest petrol station for bags of ice throughout the night, Niall and Liam making the last run just a little over an hour before. Trying to gauge just how much ice they would need had proved difficult and ultimately they’d ended up using almost ten bags altogether. They’d had to move Twelve to the tub to keep him surrounded by all the ice but Liam carries him back to the bed now, sheets still slightly damp from earlier, as he lays him out carefully across the mattress.

His skin is still overheated but Sarah says the fact that his temperature’s gone down at all is a really good sign even though it’ll probably be a while before it’s all the way back to normal.

His heart rate is back to routine levels at least and he isn’t heaving for breath anymore like he had been a few hours ago, but he’s still unconscious and Liam isn’t sure what to expect when he wakes up. If he’ll be back to himself or still in operative mode as he’s been calling it in his head.

He can see Louis and Harry through the open doorway, fast asleep on the couch, heads leaned together and a blanket thrown haphazardly over them by Niall. Him and Sarah are curled up together in the recliner with a blanket of their own and they whisper sleepily for a little while before they eventually fall silent, eyes closed and limbs tangled together. Liam sighs, shuffling over to the other side of the bed and lays his head against his own pillow figuring he may as well try and get a proper nap in himself.

It feels like it’s only been minutes but he wakes up hours later to the sound of his door creaking and sees Harry ambling in carrying a plate of bread and jam in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. God, he hopes it’s something stronger than tea. He could really use a nice cup of coffee right now.

“Oh, God bless you, Haz,” he mumbles as he takes the mug from Harry and cradles it in between his own hands, inhaling the rich smell of his own french roast.

“Figured you needed it.”

Liam’s too busy scarfing down the bread and knocking back the coffee to answer.

Once he’s finished Harry nods his at Twelve on Liam’s other side. “Is he any cooler yet?”

Liam reaches out to press the back of his hand to Twelve’s forehead and nods, letting out a little sigh of relief just as Harry does. Twelve’s eyelids twitch a little at the touch but he doesn’t wake up and Liam gently brushes his hair back from his face hoping against hope that he comes out of this okay.

As if reading his mind Harry says, “He’ll be alright. He always is. He always pulls through.”

Liam hopes he’s right.

Hours pass and Twelve’s fever keeps steadily going down. Niall orders Chinese takeaway for everyone and the others pass the time watching telly with the volume turned down low while Liam sits with Twelve sipping a fresh cup of coffee every now and then while he reads over some documents for work.

The sun’s almost all the way down and it’s practically nighttime when he hears a soft voice croak, “Liam?”

“Hey,” he says, immediately scooting down so he’s eye level with Twelve and reaching out to run a gentle hand over his face, unable to hold back his grin when he sees recognition in Twelve’s eyes. “Welcome back to the world of the living. How do you feel?”

Twelve licks his lips. “Thirsty.”

“Hey, can one of you lazy arses get some water?” Liam calls.

“Holy shit, he’s up?” Louis says, completely ignoring Liam’s question and practically bouncing up off the couch in his haste to get over to Liam’s door.

“I’ve got it!” Niall says, scrambling up and over to the kitchen.

Twelve downs the first tall glass of water Niall passes to him and reaches out for the second one in Niall’s other hand before he’s even finished the first. He downs that one too and then rubs at his head groggily.

“Does it hurt?” Liam says.

“A little.”

“Do you want anything? Some paracetamol or something?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you hungry?”

“ _So_ hungry.”

“Gotcha there too,” Niall says running back out to grab the leftover Chinese.

Niall ordered a _ton_ , somehow anticipating that Twelve would want to eat practically his entire body weight in food. For which Liam is incredibly grateful because having to figure out what to do about food for the rest of them _plus_ Twelve with his voracious appetite would’ve been a bitch and a half. When he’s torn through about eight cartons of extra takeaway plus the little bit that was leftover from Harry’s share earlier that he didn’t finish he looks around the room at everyone a bit guiltily.

“Is it alright if I just shower and go back to sleep? I know I was asleep for a really long time but it feels like I haven’t slept at all.”

“’Course. Whatever you need.” Liam nods.

Sarah checks him over one last time to make sure his vitals and his temperature are all still normal and then Liam hands him a clean set of clothes and he heads to the shower.

“So, uh,” Louis starts, “I know this probably isn’t the best time to ask—”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t,” Harry says, rolling his eyes but Louis ignores him.

“But is all of that,” he continues, gesturing to his chest, “from the program? Like fights and things?”

Liam sighs. “Yes and no.”

Louis crinkles his eyebrows in confusion and Liam sighs again.

“Yes, they’re all from the program. No, they’re not all from fights. The rest is his business to tell you if he chooses.”

Louis doesn’t ask anymore questions after that and once Twelve is out of the shower and dressed for bed everyone hugs him goodbye and tells him to feel better and that they’re glad he’s okay. And then they’re all filing out the door one after the other. The kitchen and living room are a mess but he’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now they’ve got more important things to deal with.

Liam shuts the door behind him and heads back to his room where Twelve is sitting cross-legged on the bed, picking at the duvet.

“I’m sorry…about, um, what I did,” he says.

Liam shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. Do you, um…do you remember much of it?”

Twelve nods, hesitates a while before he speaks. “It was like I could see everything happening but I couldn’t _do_ anything, like I wasn’t in control anymore. I mean, I guess even before…when someone would use code words on me I wasn’t really fully in control then either, only partially, but I could kind of…go away for a while. I had this place in my head I would go when something…unpleasant or really painful was happening. It would be like I wasn’t really there, like I would kind of check out and I would still be distantly aware of what was going on because I needed to have _some_ awareness to do…what people wanted…but this time was different. I was fully _there_ and I could see everything and hear everything but nothing I tried to say or do was getting through, it felt like I was trapped and I had to fight my way back to the surface. I think that’s why I still feel so tired, the whole time I was asleep it didn’t really _feel_ like I was asleep, it was like I was sinking and I had to try to claw my way back up through…fast-sand?”

“Quicksand,” Liam says gently.

“Yeah, that was how it felt.”

“How do you feel now?” he says, sitting gingerly on the edge of bed.

“Weird. A little fuzzy. But here.”

“Does your head still hurt?”

“Yeah, but it’s a little better now.”

“You’re sure you don’t want anything?”

Twelve shakes his head.

“Alright, well, try and get some sleep and hopefully you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Liam reaches out to turn out the light and settles down under the covers, mumbling out a good night to Twelve.

Twelve mumbles something back in Urdu and Liam chalks it up to him still being a little groggy and fuzzy from the fever and whatever his brain just spent the last twenty-four hours working through, but he can’t help smiling to himself a little anyway as he drifts to sleep.

*

Twelve makes a list of his code words. Apparently it’s not a triggering thing to write them down—and Liam thanks God for that loophole—it just never occurred to him in the early days of him being here _to_ write them down.

“I don’t know why I never thought about it,” Twelve says as he leans back against the kitchen sink and runs a hand through his long hair. He’s just taped the list to the fridge and all the words are written big and bold in bright red sharpie with the words _Do Not Say (Under Any Circumstances)_ at the top. “I guess with everything else that’s been going on it just wasn’t at the top of my list of things to worry about. Not like ‘get out of bed today’ or ‘try not to throw something today’ or ‘try not to cry today’ are. And before—when you were still reading my journals, I mean—with the headspace I was still in…I don’t know, it was just one of those things that was like a normal fact of life for me. Like I didn’t see anything that had happened in the bunker as ‘bad’ then. It just _was_. And I think it was one of those things where like, when you think of something as really normal it doesn’t cross your mind to point it out, you know? Like if you were to describe your day you wouldn’t start by saying ‘I stood up, I walked to the bathroom, I brushed my teeth, I took a piss, etc.’ because those are normal everyday things. You’d just say you woke up and skip right to part where you ate breakfast or left for work or whatever.

“I think it was kind of like that for me when I was describing some of the things that happened. Even though I would describe a lot of things in detail some stuff was so normal and mundane to me I didn’t feel the need to spell it out. So I would just say something like ‘they used my code words’ but not write out what they were because I didn’t think about writing out something that seemed so mundane or about how you might need to know that kind of thing. I guess it’s kind of funny now actually when I think about it because I spent so long thinking you already _knew_ all about code words and operatives and everything.”

Liam starts to nod in understanding before the last bit of what Twelve’s said actually catches up to him and his head whips up. “Wait, you _what_?” he says, completely thrown for a loop.

Twelve smiles a little nervously, rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, there was a while there where I was doing quite a bit of…what’s that phrase Louis’ always using? ‘Mental gymnastics’? Yeah, there was quite a bit of that going on those first few months…”

Twelve explains to him how he’d been convinced back then that Liam was a Handler or had at least had some training as one because the Director had told him “Zayn” was a code word. That it hadn’t worked on him only because it was meant for another operative that Liam had mistaken him for. He’d reasoned to himself that if Liam knew code words and had worked with other operatives he must have been a Handler at some point at another bunker. Only a couple of the code words are specialized to individual operatives, he explains. Most of them are universal and can be used on any operative so Twelve figured if Liam knew specialized code words he must know general ones too and he must have worked in depth with operatives at some point. When he finally came to the realization that Liam _wasn’t_ a Handler and had never been one and that “Zayn” wasn’t a code word but his own name—and that he’d even _had_ a name and not just a designation, as he used to call it—he says it was like his whole world was imploding. Apparently, this was also right around the time that Liam told him he had no mission and Liam’s stomach drops as Twelve speaks.

Twelve had already felt like his whole world and everything he knew had been ripped away and was trying to grapple with the fact that everything he’d been told and made to believe about himself his whole life was a lie. And then Liam had gone made it that much worse. How could he have been so _stupid_? How could he have thought that telling Twelve that he had no mission—the _one thing_ that had still kept him going, still gave him some sense of purpose in his life—would be a good thing, a comforting thing to say? _Christ_ , he’s an awful person. How is it that Twelve doesn’t completely hate him after everything he’s said and done to him, all the things he’s fucked up or made worse for him? He feels sick and absolutely disgusted with himself.

“Liam?” Twelve says suddenly.

Liam blinks, lifts his head, afraid he’s missed something important. “What?” he says, sounding a bit dazed even to himself.

“Nothing, you just seemed like you…zoned out there for a little while.”

“Right. Sorry. Dunno what’s up with me today.” He shakes his head with a nervous chuckle.

“It’s not your fault, you know, if that’s what you were thinking,” Twelve says. “I don’t blame you or anything. For the code word thing the other day or…any other stuff you might have said without realizing what it meant. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to blame _yourself_. You couldn’t have known what was going on in my head. Half the time _I_ didn’t even know what was going in my head. So, whatever you might be thinking, it’s not your fault.”

Liam knows it’s crazy but he suddenly has the fleeting thought that maybe Twelve can read minds too or something equally preposterous because how else could it be that Twelve managed to know _exactly_ what he was thinking and _exactly_ what to say.

“How do you know that’s what I was doing?” he says a little warily, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Twelve nods his chin at him. “You were doing that thing you always used to do when you thought something was your fault even when it wasn’t. Your shoulders would get all hunched and you’d stare down at the floor into dead space and get lost in when of those loops of yours where you, like, mentally beat yourself up. That’s how you looked just now and I just kind of put two and two together and figured the stuff I said probably got to you in your head. But you shouldn’t let it. It’s not your fault, you don’t have to beat yourself up about it.”

Liam’s eyes widen at that and he has to brace himself against the island counter, leaning back heavily against it. That had felt way too much like Zayn and Liam feels a bit like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

“Shit, I said something else wrong, didn’t I?”

“ _No_.” Liam blinks, shaking his head. “No. You said exactly the right thing. Just freaked me out a little to hear it that’s all.”

“It freaked you out even though it wasn’t the wrong thing?” Twelve says, confused.

“It was just…very _Zayn_.”

“Oh,” Twelve says blinking and leaning back himself. “Sorry—”

“Don’t be.” Liam shakes his head, smiles a little. “It’s a good thing. And it was exactly what I needed.”

“Is it? A good thing?” Twelve is looking up at him with an overly intense expression on his face now and Liam doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he says, brow furrowed.

Twelve looks down at the floor, shakes his head. “I don’t know, it just feels a bit…disrespectful to him. _Me_. The old me. To be speaking like him and acting like him when I’m not him.”

Liam doesn’t know what to do with that either.

“Sorry, I know I probably sound like a mental case to you right now,” Twelve says.

“No, it’s just that…I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. Even if you don’t feel like him yet, that doesn’t mean talking like him or acting like him is wrong. It’s kind of like remembering him or honoring him I think, and if anything I think it’s getting you closer to remembering more and feeling more like yourself again.”

“Maybe,” Twelve says and Liam feels like Twelve doesn’t fully believe him but he doesn’t want to push it or make him feel any worse about it so he lets it go for now.

*

Louis, predictably, makes a joke about the list the first time he sees it.

“So if I wanted to sleep with you,” he says to Twelve, “all I’d have to do is say number one or number three?”

“Too soon,” Niall says, shaking his head sternly.

“What?” Louis says with a smirk, turning back to Twelve. “Sure sounds a hell of a lot easier than spending an hour trying to chat you up and blowing my whole paycheck buying you drinks only for you to leave with someone else.”

“Do you _not_ know the meaning of ‘too soon,’” Niall says like it’s not a question.

“I know the meaning of I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Well, you’re about to learn the meaning of being punched in the throat if you don’t stop acting like a dickhead.”

“Aww, I love when you call me by my middle name. It’s how I know you really love me,” Louis says in mock-endearment, hand pressed to his chest.

“Petition to disinvite him from everything ever in the entire foreseeable future?” Harry says to Liam.

“Petition accepted.”

“Looks like you, sir, have been voted off the island,” Sarah says, taking a swig of her beer.

Louis shrugs. “No biggie. I’ll just annoy you all from the water while chilling in my giant inflatable lifeboat. Twelve will still come visit me and occasionally throw me fruit, won’t you, Twelve?”

Twelve smirks. “If by throw you mean projectile launch then sure.”

Niall high-fives him.

Later, after Louis’ been mostly forgiven and Twelve’s gone out on a walk around the neighborhood with Sarah “to get him some fresh air and much-needed exercise” as Sarah had claimed—though Liam suspects it’s really just to talk about the rest of them where no one else can hear—Louis says, “Question for the class…why have we not tried to get Twelve drunk yet?”

“D’you think he can even get drunk?” Niall muses. “Like with his metabolism or whatever? I always figured it’d be kind of like a Superman or Captain America type situation where his body, like, burns it off too fast for it to really work or something.”

Louis smirks. “Well, only one way to find out.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Liam!”

“ _No_. Not happening. You are _not_ getting Twelve drunk on my watch,” he says, turning to Harry. “Haz? A little help here?”

Harry puts his hands up, palms out in surrender as he backs away a little. “I’m Switzerland.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Thanks a lot for the support. Nice to know you’ve always got my back in a crisis, Haz.”

“Still not getting involved.”

Liam sighs, exasperated. Why is it that ninety percent of the time he ends up feeling like the only adult in a group full of toddlers?

The second Sarah gets back Louis ambushes her. She’s arm in arm with Twelve, which definitely doesn’t bother Liam at all or leave him feeling like he’s the only one Twelve isn’t comfortable being physically close to.

Louis stops them before they’ve even made it all the way through the doorway and tells her all about his “fantastic idea,” gesturing wildly like he’s making some big important presentation instead of revealing his grand plan to try and get Twelve shit-faced.

“I’m right here, you know,” Twelve says once he’s done because Louis had pretty much directed his whole speech and all his queries of approval to Sarah alone as if she’s the end-all be-all for everything.

Louis waves a hand dismissively at him. “Yeah, but I was like 96.5% sure you’d say yes already, I just needed the resident doctor’s approval to overrule Mr. Kill-Joy over there.” He points a thumb in Liam’s direction accusingly.

Sarah looks at Liam and shrugs. “Let him live a little. I mean, what’s the point of being young if you can’t be a little reckless from time to time, ya know?”

“ _Really_?” Liam throws his hands up, one hundred percent done with the lot of them. He thinks he finally understands how Caesar felt. He’s tempted to say _et tu, Sarah_ but he just barely manages to restrain himself.

Louis just says, “Booyah! Looks like you’re outnumbered, Leemo! Niall, bring out the drinks and lets get this party started for realz!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!  
> Comments and kudos feed my soul! :)


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cow = british slang for an annoying woman

_Zayn_

Twelve feels strange and floaty but not in a happy, laughy kind of way, more in a…wiggly kind of way. Everything is swimmy…or swimming. Like fish. Fish swim.

“Yeah, buddy, fish do swim,” Louis says, giggling, spilling a little bit of his beer on himself in the process, and then giggling again. “Whoops.”

Oh. He’d said that out loud. He hadn’t realized.

“Think he’s officially drunk now,” Niall says, grinning as he tips his cup against Twelve’s. “Welcome to the world, mate! Only took a whole bottle of whiskey and three beers.”

“Don’t forget the two shots of vodka Louis made him do while you were out making the second liquor run,” Harry adds.

“Of course, can’t forget those!” Niall exclaims, waving his cup in the air.

For some reason Twelve finds that motion extremely funny and he bursts into uncontrollable giggles and then can’t seem to make them stop. Liam looks annoyed from where he’s sat on the recliner, supposedly supervising, or “chaperoning” them all, and for some reason the look on his face only makes Twelve laugh harder.

“Liam,” he says and then promptly forgets what he was going to say but realizes he likes the feel of the letters and syllables forming in his mouth, likes the funny way it makes his mouth move, the shape of it on lips and tongue and the way it makes him feel, like he’s being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket every time he says it, so he repeats it. “Liam. Liam. Liiiiiam. Liammm. Leeyum.”

“Oh boy,” Harry says, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his snort of laughter.

That makes Twelve laugh again too and then he’s laughing while still trying to pronounce Leeyum and then everyone else is laughing except for Liam and the room is so spinny and swimmy and he suddenly feels like dancing but he feels too heavy to get up and so he just sways back and forth to the beat in his head.

Harry suddenly has his phone out, pointed in Twelve’s direction and Sarah says, “You know he’s gonna hate you for that in the morning, right?”

“Worth it.” He smirks, taking another sip from his own cup while trying to keep the phone steady.

Twelve closes his eyes, continues swaying back and forth because it feels nice, keeps time with the beat in his head and then starts to tap it out on his lap as he goes. He doesn’t know how long he does it for because time feels funny now, slower, but suddenly his eyes fly open.

“The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain,” he blurts. He doesn’t know where the thought came from but he remembers it for some reason, finds himself repeating it, voice slow and sluggish. “Mainly on the plain. Falls mainly on the plain. The rain in Spain…why do I know that? I can’t remember why I know that.”

“Ms. Lanham from Year 6,” Liam says. “She _hated_ your Bradford accent. Thought she could try and train it out of you somehow. She used to make you stay after class and say it over and over.”

“Oh,” Twelve says. He doesn’t remember that but it doesn’t sound very nice and so he says, “Well, she sounds like a real cow,” because he heard some girl call another girl that on a television show when the second girl was being unnecessarily mean and he feels like it fits.

That finally gets a laugh out of Liam. “Yeah, yeah, she kind of was.”

“To the apparently awful Ms. Lanham,” Louis says, raising his cup high.

“To Awful Ms. Lanham,” Niall, Harry, and Sarah repeat, doing the same.

Twelve’s cup is empty and he glances down at it a little sadly for a moment before putting it up with theirs. They all tap their cups against each other’s and against his and he returns the motion and then they’re drinking but he has nothing left to drink so he thrusts his cup out to Harry because he’s closest to all the bottles of drinks lined up on the floor, but Harry just leans over and pats him on the leg.

“I think you’ve had quite enough for one night, Young Grasshopper.”

He pouts. It’s funny, he’d found it revolting at first, the taste. And it still is, but he likes the feeling, likes how floaty and warm and relaxed he feels, enough that he can ignore the awful taste and just enjoy the effect it leaves behind after. Ignoring things is easy. He’s good at ignoring things. Like pain. He’s very good at ignoring pain. But some things are harder to ignore. Like the pink of Liam’s mouth or the curve of the muscles in his arm or the sharp cut of his jaw or—

“Earth to Twelve,” Louis says, loudly and Twelve turns, realizes he’s been staring at Liam even while still holding his cup out. “Good God, I’ve only been calling you for the last minute and a half.”

“Thirty seconds, more like,” Niall says.

“Oh, whatever the point is _someone_ was clearly lost in La La Land drooling over Liam’s ridiculous arms.”

“What about my arms?” Liam says suddenly, looking up from his phone bewilderingly, eyes wide.

“Nothing,” Louis replies quickly, overly sweet with a wide smile and crinkled eyes. “Go back to playing on your phone, Mr. Chaperone, which by the way you’re a terrible chaperone, not even paying us any mind. Twelve could have cracked his head open on a beer bottle right in front of you and you wouldn’t have even known it cause you’re so preoccupied with your twitter feed or crushing candy or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Was reading an article on new legislation passed by Parliament for the social work bill if you _must_ know.”

Louis shakes his head. “Typical Liam. Skip out on a night of drinks and fun and experimenting with Twelve to read some boring article about who-the-fuck-even-cares-what.”

Liam levels a glare at Louis. “I _can_ still kick you out, you know.”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah, but you won’t.”

“That’s what _you_ think.”

Louis shrugs again, takes another sip from his cup.

“Heyyyy, you know what’d be fun right now?” Niall suddenly says, grinning first at Sarah and then at the rest of them. “Drunk-watching SpaceMonsters3000.”

*

Twelve wakes up to a note on Liam’s side of the bed. He’s gone for a run again—he’s been doing that a lot lately—and he’s left pills and a tall of glass of water for Twelve on the nightstand. Twelve’s not sure what he’d need them for. He’s not in any pain and even if he were he thinks he’d probably need a lot more than just a few pills. But even then it’d be unlikely that he’d need them unless it was something so intolerable he couldn’t just ignore it or suppress it.

Liam’s left a plate of breakfast for him in the microwave and he warms it up, the usual beep alerting him that it’s finished waking Louis from his sprawl across the couch.

Louis groans, cradling his head as he stands, which wakes Harry who’d been sprawled out on the couch half underneath him facing the opposite way. Harry sits up, blinking his eyes open groggily for a few moments before suddenly they go wide and then he’s scrambling up, blanket half-tangled around his legs and dragging behind him as he runs frantically for the bathroom.

“ _Fuck_ , shut the door or you’re gonna make me retch too,” Louis grumbles, rubbing at the sides of his head.

Niall and Sarah are still fast asleep on the floor even through all the noise and Louis kicks half-heartedly at the very edge of their blanket in what’s probably annoyance before he comes to sit at the table next to Twelve.

He gags at Twelve’s hulking plate of food and says, “Christ, how can you even eat?”

Twelve shrugs, shovels his food into his mouth and Louis makes a face before suddenly regarding him seriously.

“Don’t tell me you’re completely fine after last night.”

Twelve’s mouth is full of food so he can’t answer but he shrugs again and Louis’ jaw drops. “ _How_ are you not hung over? You were hands down the most pissed out of any of us last night. Especially after Niall secretly let you have more of his gross concoctions after Harry cut you off. Come on, you’ve got to at least be _a little bit_ hung over.”

Twelve shakes his head.

“Not even a _smidge_ of a headache?” he presses, pinching his thumb and finger together for emphasis.

“Nope,” Twelve says, finally finishing up the last of his food.

Louis glares down at Twelve’s now empty plate as if it’s personally offended him. “So, you’re not even _the least_ bit hung over _and_ you’re able to inhale fifteen pounds of food in thirty seconds after drinking an _entire_ bottle of whiskey, two shots, three beers, and two cups of pure Niall-brewed disgustingness. Not. Fucking. Fair.” Louis brings his gaze back up Twelve’s face and narrows his eyes at him. “I hate you and everything you stand for.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he replies because he’s heard Liam say it countless times now and it seems like as good a comeback as any.

Louis rolls his eyes and drops his head to lay on his arms on the counter just as Harry comes hobbling out of the bathroom, toilet flushing behind him.

Surprisingly, that manages to wake Niall and Sarah up even though it isn’t nearly as loud as Harry’s retching noises had been.

“Breakfast?” Niall says immediately as he sits up, hair sticking up in all different directions.

Harry groans, leaning heavily against the bathroom doorframe, half-hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach. “Don’t ever say that word again.”

“There’s more of what I had in the fridge, according to the note Liam left,” Twelve says in answer to Niall.

Sarah’s hair has expanded to about three times its usual volume and she throws it into a bun before getting up too, following Niall to the kitchen where they get out plates and the leftover food and start piling it on, giggling at each other as they bump elbows.

Louis glares at their backs and says, “Let me guess, you two are perfectly fine, too?”

Sarah turns to him, eyebrows raised in confusion for a moment before she seems to realize what he means and then flashes him a big teasing smile.

Niall glances back at him and snorts. “Course we’re fine. I’m Irish and Sarah holds her liquor like a champ. More than I can say for you.” Niall points a spoon half full of food at him to punctuate his point.

Louis just glares at him more and Harry groans again, scurrying back into the bathroom and thankfully remembering to close the door behind him this time.

*

“What are you thinking about?” Liam says one night when neither of them can seem to get back to sleep.

Twelve had had a nightmare and woke up kicking and thrashing at some imaginary man on top of him that he hadn’t had the wherewithal to fight in the dream or the countless times it had happened in real life. But in that half conscious state between sleeping and waking when he could’ve sworn he could still feel the man’s breath on his neck and his hands on his skin, he’d fought with all he could only to have Liam’s voice hurtling him back to the present, reminding him where he was, _who_ he was.

Now they’re both lying here, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling like they have been for the last fifteen minutes or so.

Twelve turns his head towards Liam in the dark to find Liam already looking at him.

“Was thinking about…feeling things…then and now.”

Liam looks at him, expression a little curious, but he doesn’t say anything, just waits for Twelve to continue and Twelve takes a breath, thinks about what he wants to say and how to say it.

“It’s weird trying to explain it now that I’m aware of it but I think…I think I could always feel them, the emotions. It was just that they were so muted I wasn’t even aware of it, I guess. Like I felt it but I didn’t _really feel_ it, if that makes sense. My body would react sometimes, if I got into a situation that was, like, really distressing, but my mind…not so much.” He shakes his head. “I wonder sometimes if maybe that’s why I was so defiant early on in the program. Like a part of me knew something wasn’t right, or…knew how wrong it all felt, and tried to fight it.

“At the time I couldn’t rationalize it. I kept…questioning things and going against orders even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but it was almost automatic in a way. Someone would tell me to do something, like break my opponent’s arm in a sparring session or shoot the target in the red hat, and I would immediately ask why or just _not_ to do it and I couldn’t explain it. I couldn’t explain _what_ made me react that way, I just did it. Until the punishments started getting worse and worse and eventually I taught myself to suppress it. I kept it all my head where I knew they couldn’t punish me for it and focused on other stuff instead…how to be a better operative, how to stay out of their radar, how _not_ to get punished, or ‘disciplined’ as we called it.”

Liam shifts so he’s laying on his side, is quiet for a while before he says, “Yeah, I…I think I saw it a few times. There were these moments where you would get, like, panicked. Like you didn’t have any particular emotion on your face or anything, but your eyes would get wide or you’d start breathing harder, almost like you were scared or anxious but you didn’t _look_ scared or anxious, you just looked…blank. Like your body was just doing it out of your control, almost like it was a separate thing from you.”

Twelve nods, turns back the ceiling. “I suppose in a way it kind of was.”

“I guess even as much as they tried to take away your emotions—or your ability to connect to them at least—they still couldn’t stop your body from physically reacting to them.”

“Yeah…funny that,” he says and he can’t help but think about the way he reacts to Liam sometimes, the way his _body_ reacts like it’s its own separate entity, out of his control. Can’t help but think about the thing he isn’t supposed to think about, the thing he isn’t supposed to tell Liam, the thing he’s supposed to always keep secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this slightly more light-hearted foray into things after the rough incidents of the last few chapters!  
> Comments and kudos feed my soul! :)


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> Wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving! :D  
> (Or a Happy Wednesday/Thursday, depending on when you're reading this, for those who may not celebrate the holiday and/or don't live in the U.S.)

_Liam_

Liam is on a walk with Twelve on a breezy Sunday morning when they pass by the same Tesco Express at the petrol station up the street from his building that they’ve passed by a million times now. But this time Liam stops short, remembering suddenly that he needs to pick up a few more microwavable meals for Twelve for lunch this week because they’re running low. He rarely ever goes in this one, prefers the one in the opposite direction a little further down from his building even though it’s a longer distance away because this one always feels a bit like it’s been abandoned. This neighborhood’s a bit more posh than his own even though there’s only a few blocks difference between them. But most of the people that live over here wouldn’t be caught dead shopping in a petrol station. They’re way too uppity for petrol station food so there’s hardly ever anyone in it except for the lonely-looking cashier and the odd straggler or two.

“Hang on a sec, I just need to pop in here and get some things real quick,” Liam says to Twelve, starting to head across to the door. Twelve follows him but stops just a few feet away from where the door is and Liam turns back to look at him.

“What’s up?” Liam asks, confused as to why Twelve’s suddenly stopped.

“Security cameras,” he says, still hanging back as he nods up at the tiny camera visible just inside the door.

“Yeah,” Liam says slowly, brow wrinkling in confusion. “It’s just there to monitor the shop, make sure no one tries to steal anything. Did they use them in the bunker? To, like, monitor you guys or something?”

“No, it’s…we were always told to avoid them. It’s part of the reason we wore masks and hoods—well, outside of the fact that they probably didn’t want anyone we knew accidentally recognizing us, though _we_ didn’t know that at the time obviously.”

And it takes Twelve saying it outright for Liam to realize that this whole time it’s actually _security cameras_ he’s been avoiding. Every time they’ve passed anywhere, a shop, a flat building, or sometimes even places where Liam couldn’t see any cameras in plain view though he guesses now that there must have been, Twelve’s angled his head away and Liam feels like an idiot _again_ for not realizing it. For thinking it was just windows and doors he was trying to steer clear of, wary of who might be watching him from inside, when in reality it was the cameras _behind_ those windows and doors he was trying to avoid. He’d talked about it in his journals back when Liam was still reading them, how they have eyes everywhere in the program, whether it’s operatives or cameras spying. But Liam’s not sure now whether it’s residual programming that’s holding him back or residual fear over someone possibly using the footage to find him somehow; even though there’ve been no signs of anyone looking for him for over a year now and this petrol station is probably one of hundreds across just this area of the city alone, not to mention the thousands in the _whole_ city.

“Are you worried it’ll be too weird?” Liam says. “Like you’ll feel like you’d be disobeying protocol by going in?”

Twelve shakes his head. “No. No, that’s…” he trails off, seems to rethink what he wants to say and Liam wonders if it’s because that _is_ part of it, part of what’s stopping him, but his next words make it clear that the larger problem is more real. “It’s…there are still people looking for me. Or…there _might_ be. It’s been a really long time so I can’t be sure, they may have just assumed I’m dead or something and given up, but if they haven’t…”

Liam nods in understanding. “You’re worried they’ll find you if you get caught on camera. I get that. But it’s a random petrol station in the middle of a residential area in one of the busiest parts of the city. Finding you here would be like finding a needle in _ten_ haystacks and there’s no way they get through here without being spotted or causing a scene.”

Twelve shakes his head.“It’s not just me I’m worried about. And you don’t know them like I do, Liam. You don’t know what they’re capable of. I mean, you know what you’ve read, what I’ve told you. But it’s not the same as seeing it, as being _in_ it. If they want something, they’ll stop at nothing to get it and if they don’t, they’ll keep coming and keep trying until they get what they want. And they’re the type of people who _get what they want_. Remember the bank? We disabled the surrounding street and security cameras, got what we came for, and were in and out in under five minutes, virtually untraceable. And when the police questioned you, could you tell them anything concrete about us besides the gear we were dressed in? No faces, no names, not more than a sentence even spoken. Nothing to identify us, and yeah, we may have caused a bit of a scene but what difference does it make when no one can identify you or say anything concrete about what actually happened? I sat meters away from your flat watching you for _months_ and you had no idea. I followed you to and from work and shops and the pub and you never even had a clue. Doesn’t make a difference whether it’s the middle of the city or the middle of nowhere, if they’re still looking for me neither of us are completely safe, especially if I get caught on camera.”

“ _If_. _If_ they’re still looking for you. We don’t even know for sure that they are. Maybe you’re right, maybe it’s been too long and they _have_ given up. All I know is you can’t spend the rest of your life in fear, always looking over your shoulder and avoiding everyplace that has a security camera, which by the way is pretty much everywhere these days. Eventually you have to move on, get on with your life as best you can, you know?”

“Yeah, well, easier said than done. For right now I’d rather just wait out here if that’s alright.”

Liam sighs softly, nods. “Yeah, that’s alright, if that’s what makes you comfortable. I’ll just be a few minutes and then we can go home, okay?”

Twelve nods, leaning back against the wall by the door and Liam steps inside, the cashier looking up with a slightly surprised expression as little bell dings to alert his entrance.

*

Liam’s just come back from the shops, arms full of groceries, when he finds Twelve sitting on the couch staring down at his hands. He hardly moves the entire time Liam is putting things away in the cupboards and when Liam’s done he comes around to sit next to him.

“Hey, you okay?” he says, tone gentle, not sure what kind of reaction to expect from Twelve right now, what kind of headspace he might be in or what memory or episode Liam might be disturbing him from, but Twelve just nods. Not lost in some memory or episode after all then.

“Yeah, it’s just…I was just thinking…it’s weird…I haven’t been in control of my body— _really_ in control—since I was twelve years old. It’s almost like…like I went to sleep a kid and then woke up in the body of a grown man. I mean, I have a beard that I have to shave and—and tattoos and hair everywhere and _pubes_. I have _fucking_ _pubes_ , Liam.”

“I’m aware,” Liam says, cheeks pink but fighting a smile. It’s still so funny to him, hearing Twelve curse, but he sounds more and more like himself everyday and it just makes Liam so incredibly happy to know that even in ridiculous moments like these, _especially_ ridiculous moments like these, he’s still remembering himself, getting back to himself.

“I mean, not that I didn’t have a few before,” Twelve continues, “but like, now I have a shit ton and it’s weird, you know? Like everything’s bigger, and I mean _everything_ , like not just my hands and feet and that, but like—”

“Twelve.”

Twelve looks up at him, hands still splayed out in front of himself, and then his brain seems to catch up with his mouth and he turns back to his hands. “Sorry. I wasn’t…I wasn’t gonna say anything…inappropriate or anything like that. It’s just really weird, you know?”

Liam nods. “I know. Trust me.”

“Right,” Twelve says, dropping his hands. “The showers and everything. That must’ve been really weird for you, I guess, yeah?”

“It was what you needed at the time,” Liam says, shrugging and avoiding his gaze.

“Well, yeah, but…it still had to have been kind of weird, right? Bathing someone, bathing _me_?”

Liam shrugs again. “At first, yeah. But after a while it got so it wasn’t really that big a deal anymore. Is it weird for you remembering it now?”

Twelve bobs his head back and forth in a sort of non-committal gesture. “Yes and no. It’s like…I remember being in that mindset and it _feeling_ normal, but thinking back on it now, _imagining_ it now…”

Twelve trails off, turns his face away a little.

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, suddenly feeling uncomfortable himself.

He needs a run. Feels like now might be a good time to do that.

Lately that seems like the only thing that can take his mind off of thoughts of Twelve when they start to get a little…out of control. And also stress over work. It’s good for that, too. But mostly thoughts involving Twelve. It’s a good distraction, a good way to force his mind to focus on less…stimulating things, more appropriate things, like whether or not his breathing is right or his pacing is steady or what song he should play next in his workout playlist. Nice, innocent things.

“Listen, I, um…I think I’m gonna go for a run for a bit,” he says, getting up to go change into his workout clothes.

Twelve just nods and he looks a little skittish when he glances at Liam and Liam’s not sure why, but he chalks it up to the awkwardness of the conversation.

*

Lately it feels like every time Liam comes home it’s to something even more unexpected. This time it’s to Sarah cuddled on the couch under a blanket with Twelve, the telly turned low as some random infomercial plays on the screen. He’s leaned into her shoulder as she mutters softly to him and Liam has no idea what’s going on but Sarah manages to text him, presumably one-handed as her other arm is wrapped around Twelve’s shoulder. Liam doesn’t even see her hand moving but the next thing he knows his phone is buzzing.

_He had a bit of a meltdown earlier. Texted me from the ipad. All good now._

_oh_ , Liam texts back feeling a bit helpless. _anythng I can do?_

_Tea maybe?_

_sure thngg_

He tries not to listen in as he fumbles around the kitchen but he can’t help it. In between the noise of his own banging around opening drawers and cupboards, getting the kettle started, and getting out the mugs and spoons and everything, he catches bits and pieces of their conversation. Well, not really conversation since Twelve is mostly silent, more so just what Sarah’s saying to him, things to comfort him, how he might always be different and why that’s okay.

“…I mean, no one stays the same,” she says, “and the things you’ve been through are more than most people would go through in a lifetime. Honestly, I’d be more worried if you _hadn’t_ changed, I think it’d be more scary if you just went back to acting like that little boy again. I know I for one would be creeped out…” That seems to crack a small smile out of Twelve but that’s all the reaction Sarah gets and she soldiers on. “And besides everyone’s entitled to a meltdown or two every now and then even over the dumbest of problems, like what dress to wear that doesn’t make you look fat, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s healthy, better to let it all out than keep it bottled up all the time and let it fester. That doesn’t make you any more messed up than the next person and yeah, you may be different, but being different is good, it means you’re growing, learning, moving on,” she says and Twelve nods like he understands.

But later, after she’s gone, he just sits on the couch and stares at the floor, tea untouched, and Liam doesn’t know how to help him. Doesn’t know what to say that could be any better, much less as good as what Sarah’s already tried to. Feels about as useless as anything knowing that there’s nothing he can do to help, and feeling guilty on top of it over the fact that Twelve clearly feels more comfortable around everyone else than he does Liam, especially when it comes to talking about what he’s going through.

Twelve’s been more open with him lately than before, sure, but it feels like most of the time Liam has to practically pry the information out of him. Twelve rarely volunteers things on his own, at least not to Liam outside of the odd time once or twice, so if Liam doesn’t outright ask he has no way of knowing. But evidently he’s the only one that applies to and he’s not bitter about it. Just sad, really. And maybe a little jealous of everyone else.

*

“Liam,” Twelve says suddenly one night, catching Liam off guard as he walks through the doorway of his bedroom fresh from the shower after a night run. Twelve’s voice is rough, raspy, and Liam wonders for a second if he’d been crying while Liam was out or even while he was in the shower. "What if Sarah’s right?"

Twelve’s perched on the end of the bed, eyes trained on the floor. It’s been one of those days where he’s barely left the room, barely spoken, and he’d spent most of the day laying in bed, only emerging just a couple hours earlier for dinner.

"Right about what?" Liam says finally stepping past the doorway and coming to sit next to him.

"I might never be… _me_ again," Twelve says and he still won’t look at Liam, still keeps his gaze trained on the floor like he’s staring through it.

“She didn't say that."

“But it’s what she meant."

Liam shakes his head. “It’s not. You’re not the same as you were when you first got here. You're already remembering so much and you’re more and more like yourself everyday.”

“I’m _not_ myself.” Twelve looks right at him then, a seriousness in his face, an almost defiant tilt to his chin.

Liam doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t convince Twelve of something he doesn’t want to believe, doesn’t want to _see,_ even if Liam can and the silence stretches on like a weight between them until Twelve finally speaks again.

"I've hurt _so many_ people, _killed_ _so many_ people," he says, voice breaking.

“But not _willingly_ , not _consciously_ ,” Liam says, voice coming out bolder than he feels. “They stripped you of everything that made you you when they took you for exactly that reason, so they could use you without having to worry about you fighting back. It wasn’t _you_ , not really. You _have_ to know that."

"I know a lot of things," Twelve says and there's so much conviction in his voice all of a sudden, so much emotion, so much bitterness. “I know Cantonese and Russian and fucking Farsi and Igbo, and how to disassemble an M14 and put it back together again in under ninety seconds, how to—how to calm you down when you’re having an anxiety attack after narrowly avoiding getting the shit beat out of you by kids twice your size, how you like your sugar with just the right amount of tea, how to kill someone a million different ways and still make it look like an accident, but I can’t—” he shakes his head, “I can't remember how we met, or my sister’s middle names, who my first crush was, or how many people I shot from rooftops, or tortured to within an inch of their lives, or who they were, or why I'm not supposed to—why I want to—” Twelve’s fists curl and he looks like he might punch the wall, and Liam wants him to. Liam wants him to scream or cry or do whatever the hell he wants, everything he couldn’t before for all the years they stole from him. "You were my best friend. I remember that. I remember _you_. I remember…looking after you, taking care of you, and now you’re the one taking care of me and…and I know you want him back, the old me, but I can’t be him. I _can’t_. I'm going to keep doing what you say until I can keep myself together, if—if that ever even happens, but…this might be all there ever is, Liam. This might be all _I_ ever am."

Twelve is still looking at the carpet, shoulders hunched over and they sit there next to each other in silence, not speaking for a while.

“Mara Lindsey,” Liam says finally, and Twelve doesn't react or give any kind of indication that he heard him, but Liam knows he did so he keeps talking anyway. "She was your first crush. Or at least the first one that I knew of. She had these huge glasses and curly hair that stuck out in all directions cause she was always messing with it, a nervous habit the other kids used to tease her for. They thought she was weird cause of the glasses and the hair thing, but you just thought she was cute and ‘quirky.’” Liam laughs. “I think that was like your word of the week or something. Quirky. Anytime someone called her weird, you’d immediately come to her defense and say ‘she’s _not_ weird, she’s quirky.’ Didn’t exactly help out your own reputation but you didn’t seem to mind. You never worked up the courage to ask her out though before she moved away.

“And the day we met was the day you and your family moved in. It was the summer before Year 4 and it was hot even for here, probably one of the hottest days of the whole summer, and Waliyha was sitting on the steps eating an ice lolly. I was being nosy and kept riding back and forth on my bike up and down the block trying to get a peak at the new people moving in and by the sixth time I rode by Waliyha had gone inside and you were standing on the step in front of the door with your arms crossed watching me pedal closer. And when I got close enough to be within earshot you yelled at me, all like, ‘Hey, stop staring at my little sister, you creep!’”

He does his best imitation of Zayn’s Bradford accent and he doesn’t pull it off quite right but Twelve doesn’t correct him so he just keeps going.

“Except, you know, with your accent I thought you were calling me a ‘crepe’ and it was some new expression I was out of the loop on. I went home embarrassed, feeling like I’d made an idiot out of myself for getting caught spying and also for not understanding. But you came to my house the next day and invited me to come over to yours to hang out as long as I promised not to be a ‘crepe’ and stare at your sister again. It took me like three days to figure out you were saying creep instead of crepe,” Liam says, smiling and shaking his head at himself, “but anyway after that we hung out pretty much everyday for the rest of the summer. I couldn’t believe I’d found someone who was as into comics and superheroes as I was. All the other kids thought I was weird cause I didn’t really know how to talk to anyone unless it was about superheroes and they weren’t really interested. I didn’t get all the cool new expressions and I tended to get a bit…obsessive when it came to talking about things I did like. I hadn’t learned yet how to turn that side of myself down by about five hundred notches and kind of had a habit of weirding people out until you came along. You didn’t care about any of that. I would talk and talk and talk and you would just let me. You’d just sit there listening, _actually_ listening instead of just pretending like I was so used to people doing, and when I was done you always had something really smart or clever to say even as young as we were.”

Twelve shifts so he’s laying curled up on his side of the bed, and Liam shifts too, scooting up until he’s laying back against the pillows and just keeps talking, tells him every minute detail about his sisters he can remember, every scrape and scuffle and near-death experience they narrowly avoided with bullies, how Zayn would always outsmart the assholes with witty, sarcastic comebacks, how he would show up out of nowhere to come to Liam’s defense as if he just instinctively knew that Liam was in trouble, had some sort of secret spidey-sense for anytime Liam needed him. He tells Twelve everything he can think of, everything he can remember as Twelve lies there, still silent, but listening, definitely listening, the same way he always has.

*

A few weeks pass and things seem pretty stable for a while. Twelve goes back to laughing and joking around with the others soon after as if everything’s back to normal, or as normal as things can be with him anyway, and the whole not feeling like himself thing seems to go forgotten. He doesn’t mention it again and he doesn’t have any other meltdowns or outbursts, at least not that Liam knows of. He doesn’t spend as much time holed up in bed and in general he seems more active, more alert. But things get rocky again pretty quickly one weekend when Twelve’s family is over to visit. Trisha had first brought up the possibility of Twelve coming home privately to Liam a while back and Liam’s honestly not sure how Twelve might react, not quite sure how he himself feels about it. But things have been so steady with Twelve for the last few weeks and he’s been getting along so great with his sisters that when she brings it up again this time round Liam can’t think of any valid reason _not_ to encourage her. Which turns out to be a huge mistake because it backfires in the worst possible way.

“No,” Twelve says, pointblank, when Trisha brings it up and the room goes eerily silent. Everyone else had been laughing and talking only a moment before but they all go quiet at that, looking at each other or at the floor awkwardly.

“We just want you back with us, love,” she presses. “You’ve been gone for so long and we just want you home. Don’t you want to come home?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No. That’s not my home.”

“Oh, love, I know it’ll be different and it’s not the home you remember but you’ll still be with us.”

“No. I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

Twelve glances at Liam then and Liam’s not sure why he’s suddenly acting like this but he hopes Twelve’s not expecting him to explain why he should stay because he really doesn’t think that’s his place.

“I just don’t want to,” Twelve says turning back to Trisha.

“At least help me understand why then. Is it because it’ll be a new place? Are you worried you won’t feel comfortable there? Because we can make it up like the old house if you like, if it’ll make you feel better. We’ve still got a lot of the old furniture so it’ll mostly just be a bit of rearranging and it won’t look exactly the same but I’m sure we can get it close. We can even make up the guest room just like how your room used to be if you want.”

“ _No_ ,” Twelve says and he looks angry now. “I said I don’t wanna go, why is that so hard to understand?”

“Because you won’t _help_ me understand. We just want you home, love, so we can be a family again, that’s all.”

“ _No_. I’m _not_ going. I said I don’t want to, I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“Zay—” Trisha starts and she seems to realize her mistake as soon as she says it, eyes wide and mouth already moving to correct herself but it’s too late, Twelve cuts her off before she even has the chance.

“I’m _not him_!” Twelve snaps. “I might not _ever be_. So if that’s what you’re looking for so you can be a fucking family again you might as well forget it.”

“Twelve—” Liam tries.

“ _No_. It’s _my_ choice,” he says whipping around to Liam now. “I get a say now, don’t I? Isn’t that what you’re always saying? Well, it’s _my_ choice and this is what I’m choosing. I want to stay _here_. I don’t want to leave.”

Liam doesn’t know what to say to that. He sighs, looks at Trisha sadly and she gives him a small, sad smile back.

“It’s alright,” she says to Liam in the corridor a little later when they’re all leaving. “I knew it might be a bit of a fight at first. He’s gotten so used to being here and he’s got you and your friends as sort of an extended family now and we’d be taking him to a whole new place hours away, but I just figured why not at least try, you know? Maybe I’ll try again in a few months, but for now…if this is where he wants to stay then I have to respect that. He’s a grown man now and, whether I like it or not, it _is_ his choice. I won’t force him after everything he’s been through. And I know you’ll take good care of him just like you have been.”

“I’ll keep trying my best,” Liam says, “and I am really sorry for how he acted. That was pretty rude even for him, but it’s been a while since he had one of his mood swings so maybe it was due. I’m just really sorry it had to be directed at _you_ like that.”

Trisha shakes her head. “It’s alright, really. I can’t even begin to understand what he’s going through so I can’t imagine how hard and overwhelming all this must be for him, especially with me springing it on him like that. And I _did_ miss his teenage years so I guess that was me getting a bit of a taste of what it might’ve been like.” She laughs. “I have a feeling he probably won’t want us back for a little while though, so I think it might be best if we maybe give him some space for a week or two, but just let him know if he asks that we’re not angry with him. I don’t want him thinking that we resent him or blame him or anything for how he’s feeling right now or for what he said.”

Liam nods. “I will, and I’ll keep you updated on how he’s doing just in case.”

“Thank you, love. You’re amazing, you know that?” she says, gathering him up in a hug.

“I’m really not. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time.”

“Well, for someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing you sure are doing a great job,” she says pulling back and smiling at him. “Chin up, love. You’re doing better than you think you are, trust me.”

Liam blushes a little but waves good-bye, watching as she joins the rest of her family down the corridor where they’re waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that second to last scene was heavily inspired by a scene from [Circling Back](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1467004/chapters/3091645) by chaya (ch. 17 just to be specific) just in case anyone has read that fic and happens to notice the similarities, I just wanna make it clear that I wasn’t trying to plagiarize or anything and wanna give credit to the original author where it’s due for the amazing scene that inspired this one!
> 
> As always comments and kudos are much appreciated and feed my soul! :)


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! :)

_Zayn_

Twelve doesn’t know how to explain why he got so angry over his mum trying to convince him to come home. He knows Liam isn’t all that happy with him after the way he acted and he’s sorry for saying the things he did, for hurting his family like that, but it had felt like they were trying to rip him away from Liam, from his life here, from everything he knows all over again. And maybe he could get used to living in a new house in a new area, to being away from Louis and Harry and Niall and Sarah, but he can’t fathom being apart from Liam. Not now. Not when it feels like being here with Liam is the only thing still holding him together.

How could he explain that to her? Especially with Liam right there listening. He’d desperately wanted her to just let it go but she wouldn’t and so he got frustrated and angry and said things he shouldn’t have and now they won’t be coming back. Not for a while anyway and it’s all his fault. And he can’t explain any of that to Liam, to _anyone_ , without revealing the real reason he’d gotten so angry so he can’t pass along an apology or an explanation or _anything_ to get them to come back and it only makes him feel worse. Like he keeps digging himself deeper and deeper in a hole he can never get out of. He can’t stop replaying it over and over in his head and he cries himself to sleep for three nights in a row, quiet so Liam won’t hear because he wouldn’t be able to explain to him what was wrong anyway.

He feels like such a fuck up but he doesn’t even remember how to _be_ any other way but this. He doesn’t even know who he is anymore, barely remembers who he used to be but for bits and pieces. His memories are a jumbled mess, his emotions are all over the place, he keeps making the only people who care about him about upset or angry without meaning to and everything he does, everything that happens, feels so out of his control. He hates being this way but he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He doesn’t know how to go back to being how they expect him to be and everyone keeps telling him it’s okay that he’s different but he knows they don’t mean it. He knows what they really want is their son back, their best friend back. The kind, caring, respectable version of him they used to know—the one who didn’t have temper tantrums or hurl cruel insults or throw things against the wall or burst into uncontrollable tears—and he’s _trying_. He’s trying so hard to be that person again but he can’t help but feel like he’s faking, like he’s just going through the motions and every time he feels like maybe he could get there, like maybe he _could_ start to be that person again, something happens to knock him right back to reality and remind him that he’s not, that he can’t. That he probably never will be.

*

Twelve wakes up in a sweat, damp t-shirt sticking to his skin. It’s the middle of the night and he’s hard. Finds himself looking over at the closet more on instinct than anything even though he remembers enough now to know this isn’t something Liam would ever punish him for or blame him for. Remembers what he _could_ do. If he wanted. But Liam is right there and even if that weren’t the case he _can’t_.

He gets up, shuffles himself awkwardly into the shower, scrubs away the sweat and the grime and the shame until his skin is red, and watches it all rinse down the drain with the clouded suds of soap and then he sits, curled into the corner of the tub, water still pounding down in front of him. He thinks about Liam, probably still fast asleep in bed dreaming about happy, innocent things like…like…Twelve doesn’t know what. It feels like all he’s ever known are bad dreams or… _the other_ kind of dreams, the ones he shouldn’t be having.

He envies Liam sometimes, being able to sleep so peacefully and not be plagued by all the things Twelve is and he wishes he could go back to that, like he used to when he was younger, but he’s stuck like this. Stuck in this body that he doesn’t know what to do with, doesn’t know how to control or navigate anymore because it hasn’t really been _his_ for so long. Stuck with these thoughts and these dreams and these _wants_ that he can’t turn off, can’t stop. Stuck with the guilt he feels over it all.

He stares down at himself, still hard, and thinks about what he could do but he _can’t_. He can’t bring himself to do it. It feels wrong and he doesn’t know if it’s because of his programming or because Liam’s his friend and he knows people aren’t supposed to think about their friends that way or both. He can’t do it and he sits there miserably, curled into himself watching the water fall and swirl around him and he doesn’t know how much time passes but it feels like a long time.

When he gets back to the room Liam’s awake, propped up on his elbow scrolling through his phone, and he looks up when Twelve comes through the door.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Just…” Twelve scrambles a moment, trying to think of how to explain. He could tell Liam the truth. He knows that Liam wouldn’t punish him for it and he doesn’t think that he would be angry either, though he might be somewhat weirded out to know that it’s happening so close to his vicinity and so often. But that would mean admitting the thing he’s not supposed to voice. The thing he isn’t supposed to ever tell Liam. So, instead he settles on, “…just needed to clear my head.”

“Oh, ok.” Liam nods. “Well, if you want to talk about it…I’m here, you know, if…if you’re still okay with talking to me about stuff, I mean.”

“You have work in the morning.”

“Guess it’s a good thing they invented coffee then, isn’t it?” Liam says with a small smile and Twelve finds himself smiling a little too despite himself but he shakes his head.

“I’m okay. Really. I cause enough sleepless nights for the both us, don’t need to add anymore to the list unnecessarily.”

“It’s not like you do it on purpose, and besides I…I _want_ to help.”

Twelve shakes his head again. “It’s fine. It’s nothing, really. Just had a weird dream, that’s all. I don’t really want to talk about it,” he says and it’s close enough to the truth that he doesn’t feel too guilty about lying.

“Okay, well…I’m still here. You know, if you ever want to.”

Twelve nods, watches Liam for a moment as he settles back down to bed before doing the same. He doesn’t sleep, can’t seem to make himself again no matter how hard he tries but he lays there listening to Liam’s breathing until the sky turns from black to grey to pale blue and Liam is up and puttering around getting himself ready for the day ahead.

*

Louis and Harry are over a couple of days later, sprawled out across the floor watching telly, Niall and Sarah having skipped out for a long-awaited date night instead, so it’s just the four of them. Liam ordered pizza and Twelve has two whole boxes to himself while the rest of them share the other two and they couldn’t come to a consensus on a film to watch so instead they’re marathoning _Friends_. It seems to be one of the only things they can all agree on when they can’t seem to agree on anything else and of all the shows and films Twelve’s watched in these past few months, this one is by far at the top of his list of favorites. He doesn’t remember watching it with Liam before, when they were younger, but apparently he had and he’d liked it then too so maybe that’s part of why he likes it so much now, some subconscious connection to it he’s not aware of yet. But he also feels like it was the one show he learned the most from back when he still had so much trouble understanding other people and why they did the things they did.

While the credits are playing for the end of another episode, Louis turns to them all and says, “Who do you lads think we’d be if we were _Friends_ characters? Liam’s definitely Ross, no question. Who do you think you’d be, Twelve?”

“I guess I’d be Rachel,” he says without thinking and immediately feels his face go hot. Why had he said that? He can’t believe he just said that. Christ, what’s wrong with him? He glances at Liam nervously but Liam just laughs and Twelve forces out a dry laugh too, hopes that maybe this can just be passed off as a joke.

Louis’ snickering and Harry’s smiling but he’s looking at Twelve funny and Twelve avoids his gaze, fiddles with the remote just for something to do.

“I feel like _you’re_ more of a Monica, Harold,” Louis says once he’s gotten all his giggles out. “Like, you try to be all care-free but secretly you care way too much and you’re kind of weird and a bit of a neat freak.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “A little rude but yeah, alright, I’ll take that. I think Niall’s definitely Phoebe, but I feel like Sarah’s also kind of Phoebe so that’s a bit problematic but.” He shrugs. “As for you though I’d say you’re kind of a mix between Joey and Chandler. Like you’re always annoying everyone and coming up with weird ideas that make no sense but you’re also super sarcastic and rude ninety percent of the time so…Joandler.” He squints his eyes, nods to himself as if he’s affirming that he’s right in his head and then looks at Louis.

Louis nods, says, “Yeah. Point. Touché for the equally rude comeback. I deserved that.”

Harry nods, overly serious, but then can’t seem to help smiling slyly. By then the next episode is starting though and Liam tells the others to hush.

“Hush _yourself_ , Ross, I’ll talk when I want,” Louis says but he quiets down a moment later anyway, turning back to the telly.

*

“Did we…kiss?” he whispers to Liam early one morning, afraid to hear the answer in case it isn’t what he thinks he remembers. He’s been lying awake for maybe an hour, going back and forth in his head over the dream he woke from, whether he should even ask. But Liam is awake now and before he can stop himself the words are out of his mouth.

Liam’s eyes go wide as he sits up a little on his elbow, blinks down at Twelve in surprise. “You…remember that?”

Twelve nods, the ball of anxiousness in the pit of his stomach that had been roiling since the moment he woke up finally melting away. He’d been so afraid it hadn’t been real. Another partial memory mixed up with a dream, like the one on the beach all those months ago, him and Liam eating ice cream and watching the waves crash against the shore. That part had been true he knows, a _real memory_ , but the words hadn’t been. He can’t remember now what they actually said in that moment but he knows it wasn’t what was said in the dream and he’d been so afraid that this was like that too. That he was just letting his subconscious wants invade even his most whole memories of them, but it was _real_.

“Just once,” Liam says. “It was more of an accident than anything, we were wrestling and it just sort of…happened. We never talked about it after. We both just sort of pretended like it never happened. And then you—you were…gone. I kept…thinking I was being punished. For doing something…forbidden, or for…for not having the courage to talk about it, or both, I wasn’t sure. I don’t know if it was the same for you but for me…I wasn’t really ready to admit to myself then what it might mean…about myself and…liking other boys. It felt like if I acknowledged it, it would be just another thing that made me different, another thing that that meant I wasn’t normal and it already felt like there was so much that was wrong with me or that made me different from everyone else that I just couldn’t handle another thing, especially that big a thing, on top of it all.”

Twelve nods. He can’t quite remember but he thinks maybe he felt something like that too once. Something about the words or maybe the feeling behind them is familiar, though in retrospect now it seems so trivial, especially in the face of everything else. He’s been with many men and many women and he doesn’t know what that makes him, especially considering that he was probably already the way he was even before they took him. He’s been with so many people but none of it was ever anything he wanted, had never even occurred to him that it could _be_ a _want_ , could be something more than just the fulfillment of someone else’s basal needs, something _he himself_ could want and yet when he dreams of Liam—

These are the things he isn’t supposed to be thinking about. But somehow he had _wanted_ even before he fully recognized what it was to want, or that he even _could_ want for something, had felt it even before he was fully aware enough or able to remember himself. Had sheltered himself in the closet all those times with the object of his want sitting only inches away, unable at the time to understand or rationalize to himself, even in his own fucked up way, why any of it was happening or what it meant but now he does. And he has enough sense to be ashamed. Not because it’s another man but because it’s _Liam_. Liam who’s supposed to be his best friend and who isn’t ever supposed to know about the way he feels. It had been one of the first things he remembered, one of the first feeble tendrils of memory he’d been able to grasp onto and even though he couldn’t remember _why_ at the time, he remembered enough to know he wasn’t ever supposed to voice it. That was the promise he’d made to himself. All those years ago. And he thinks maybe it’s even more important now than ever, when all the horrible things he’s done makes even the thought of _more_ impossible, unfathomable.

Twelve shifts on the bed, not intentionally, more out of anxiousness over his racing thoughts than anything. But the movement brings him closer to Liam and he doesn’t even realize it until he sees that Liam is shifting away, scooting just a bit further back on the bed and _this_ is why.

This is why he can’t ever voice it, why he’s not supposed to let himself think about it, not supposed to let himself _feel_ it. If Liam ever found out…he doesn’t know what would happen but he knows it wouldn’t be good. The thing he’s not supposed to talk about, the thing he wants, it can’t happen. And he knows, _remembers_ , thinking that even before he was taken but it’s even more true now. Not just because of how he is now but because of _what_ he is, what they turned him into. No matter how bad he wants it, it _can’t_. It can’t happen.

*

Harry’s over a couple of days later and immediately notices something’s up almost as soon as he’s through the door, coming around to the couch a little precariously. Raises an eyebrow at Twelve’s tense posture, his white-knuckled grip on his sketchbook. Not his regular one but the one he keeps hidden, tucked away. The one he hardly ever dares crack open but for in the dead of night or the somber hours of the early morning when he’s sure no one else is around or awake to see it.

It’s full of sketches of Liam, some half-finished, some fully fleshed out. And it’s not as if it’s anything inappropriate just. Just private. Full of all the quiet moments from when it’s just the two of them. Liam fast asleep, chest rising and falling peacefully next to him. Liam hunched over a stack of papers at the desk in his room, bright light from his laptop leaving half his face lit up and the other half in shadow. Liam sprawled in the recliner, half asleep after a long day at work. Liam in a grassy park, setting sun beaming behind him like a halo. Liam bustling around the kitchen in his workout clothes, fresh from a run and in the midst of making them both an afternoon snack. It’s not anything incriminating, not really, could even be passed off as friendly without too close an inspection, but he knows that just one look, one good look, and anyone would be able to see it. Everything he feels, everything he’s tried so hard to keep hidden. It’s in the curve of the boldly shaded lines of Liam’s back as he turns to look at Twelve over his shoulder, the delicate pencil strokes of the crinkles around Liam’s lips and eyes mid-laugh, the sharp line of his shoulder jutting out from underneath the covers on his bed, the indistinct outline of his fingers splayed lazily across the armrest of the recliner.

Twelve’s filled up almost all of the pages now, mostly takes it out just to look, trace the lines with his eyes and fingers and think of what could’ve been. If things were different. If _he_ were different. He wouldn’t have chanced it in the middle of the day like this had he known, but Harry’s visit is a bit of a surprise. He does that sometimes, and Twelve should have heard him coming, _would_ have if he hadn’t been so caught up, so lost in his own head, his own stupid fantasies. Really he should chuck this book. This stupid book full of things he wants and can never have. But he can’t seem to make himself do it and it’s madness keeping it around, this thing that’s just a constant reminder, he knows that, but he keeps coming back to it anyway. Like somehow looking at the pages for the six-hundredth time will change things. Make him. Make him into someone deserving of that smile, that laughter, that compatible ease, that care. Make him something Liam could ever be capable of feeling more than friendly affection for, if even that. Make him into something deserving of anything other than cold derision and pity. But he’s fooling himself even entertaining the thought.

As it is he doesn’t understand how Liam can treat him as kindly as he does, navigate around him with such comfort and ease—with the exception of moments when Twelve gets too close, oversteps his bounds, and _that_ he understands—doesn’t understand how Liam can be so friendly and caring and generous, so free of judgment. He doesn’t understand how _any_ of them can. He’s not deserving of it. Not with his behavior even in the most recent of times, and certainly not with his past. _Especially_ not with his past. With what he _is_.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Harry says after nearly five minutes of tense silence have passed between them. Twelve had hoped he would be content enough to let it pass uninquired as he does sometimes, but evidently not.

“I’m fine,” he answers simply.

“Funny, that’s exactly what people say when they’re not fine. Come on, I know something’s going on. You’ve been weird all week. The last _couple_ of weeks really,” he amends. “More so than usual.”

“I’ve just…had a lot on my mind.”

“Mmm. About?”

Twelve shakes his head. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know, just…stuff.

“ _Stuff_ to do with Liam perhaps?” Harry says, but he says it like he already knows the answer, expression neutral.

Twelve doesn’t answer.

Harry juts his chin in the direction of Twelve’s lap. “Something to do with what’s in that book?”

“It doesn’t matter what’s in the book,” he says, hand tensing around it instinctively. “I just—I don’t understand why you guys act like you do around me. Why _he_ does. Like—like everything’s normal. Like _I’m_ normal.”

“Would you rather we all walked on eggshells around you? Treated you like some fragile thing about to break?” Harry says, brows crinkled like he’s genuinely curious.

“ _No_.” Twelve is getting frustrated now. “No, that’s the exact _opposite_ of what I mean.”

Harry squints. “So…you want us to treat you like…sorry, I’m confused. Like what, exactly?” He shakes his head quickly, cocks it, waits patiently for an explanation.

“Like what I _am_ ,” Twelve says tensely, blowing a hot breath out through his nose. He can’t tell if Harry’s being purposefully obtuse, just playing dumb for the sake of proving a point, or if he genuinely doesn’t understand what Twelve’s saying but either way it’s grating on his already frayed nerves. His own confusion, anxiousness, and frustration from his thoughts alone have already edged him over into a rather turbulent mood. Not that he’d started out in the best of moods anyway seeing as how he’d been sitting here wallowing in his own misery before Harry had even shown up, but this constant back and forth and frustration over trying to explain himself in the face of Harry’s imperceptiveness, intentional or not, is only adding to his irritability. “Like what I _deserve_.”

Harry’s brows raise at that, understanding finally dawning on his face before his expression morphs back into one of simple neutrality. “What you deserve,” he repeats, tone soft and even. “And you don’t think that’s to be treated nicely? Normally?”

Twelve grits his teeth, borderline angry now, grips the book in his hand a little tighter trying to tamp down the urge to rip it to pieces. “That’s not—” He cuts himself off, huffs out a frustrated, angry breath.

“That’s not what you meant?” Harry finishes and Twelve wants to scream. Harry’s twisting his words, making it sound worse than what he means, and again he can’t tell if Harry’s doing it on purpose or if it’s just genuine miscommunication but regardless it’s enough to push him over the edge.

"How can he know?" Twelve snaps, leaning forward, and he’s shouting now. Well, half-shouting, voice half-ragged, feeling suddenly weighed down with frustration and exhaustion and shame. "How can he know and still look at me? How can _any_ of you know—know half of what I—what I did and still—”

“Because _we know_ _you_ ,” Harry says and he sounds so sincere but Twelve shakes his head, emphatic.

“You know a _version_ of me, and a fucked up version at that, but I'm a _murderer_ , Harry.”

“Not by choice.”

“ _Why_ does everyone keep saying that? A _murderer_ is a _murderer_.”

“Not if you don't have a choice. Would you call someone who killed their abuser out of self-defense a murderer?”

“Of course not, but that's different. That’s _self-defense_. I _killed_ those people in _cold blood_.”

“Okay, fine, different scenario,” Harry concedes. “Someone holds a gun to a kid's head and tells him to shoot someone else, would you call _him_ a murder?”

“No one held a gun to my head!”

“But they might as well have, and _that's_ why we can forgive you. _That's_ why we can look at you and not see a murderer, because you didn't have a choice the same way that kid wouldn't have had a choice. You didn’t make the decision to kill all those people, _they_ did that for you. They forced you to become something you weren't so they could use you over and over again. That's not on you, that's on _them_. You're not a killer and what you did doesn't make you a killer, it makes you a victim. And you know how I know you’re not a killer? Because you're in here tearing yourself up feeling guilty over everything you did instead of out there murdering more people. If you really were a murderer you wouldn't _care_ , you'd have no sense of remorse for what you did—you'd probably still be out there doing it—but you _do_ and that's what makes you different. That’s what makes you someone who deserves to be treated like a _person_ instead of a monster. Someone who deserves to be treated with kindness after a lifetime of pain and abuse.

“Why you would think any of us would ever willingly subject you to more of that is beyond me, but you’ve got to stop thinking of the thing they made you into as _you_. Of course it’s always gonna be a part of you, there’s nothing you can do to change that now, as much as all of us wish it weren’t the case, but it’s not _you_.”

Twelve wishes he could believe that, he really does, but he’s too exhausted to explain to Harry how impossibly intertwined all the different parts and versions of himself are. Disjointed as they may be at times, they’re all him. Even when he was the operative he was still some version of himself, muted and hollowed out, a shell of his former self, but still him. And he’s still here in him even now, the operative, but he’s not just a part of him, he _is_ him. The operative may not be in control right now but all his thoughts, his memories, his skills, they’re still there, same as the boy’s, though the boy’s are still mostly fragments. The Boy, the operative, the Man, they’re all him. His past has shaped as much of who he is as anyone else’s has, probably even more so in his case, and he can’t escape that anymore than anyone else can. Can’t escape his past. Can’t escape himself. No matter how hard Harry insists he can. No matter how hard he might try.

*

Twelve is out with Liam a few days later when they make a detour at the Tesco Express again, a different one than last time, not as empty. They walk up to the door and Twelve hesitates. He’d avoided part of the question before, when Liam had asked about it being protocol and programming holding him back. Not because he was embarrassed or ashamed or anything, but because in the moment that hadn’t been as important as everything else he’d needed Liam to understand about why he couldn’t go in, even if it _was_ part of it. He hovers just behind Liam now though, thinks for a moment about what Liam said before about living his life in fear and always looking over his shoulder, and before he’s even completely thought it through he’s following Liam through the door. Liam turns back to look at him in surprise, eyebrows raised and Twelve shrugs, figures Liam has a point. He can’t avoid this forever and now’s as good a time as any. As long as he makes sure he’s careful everything should be fine.

He keeps his head down, hood pulled low as they walk past the camera and stays close to Liam as they pass by the register, discreetly eyeing the man getting rung up who’s doing much of the same, head tucked down and dark hoodie shielding his face from view like Twelve’s. He knows he shouldn’t be staring but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the man. It’s strange but there’s something…familiar about him that Twelve can’t quite place even though he can’t see the man’s face clearly. Something about his build and his stance that catches Twelve’s attention. He tries to put his mind off it, keeps his head down and follows Liam over to the aisles but stops short when he hears someone speak.

“Twelve?” a voice says and he turns to see that the man at the register has pushed his hood a bit further back, head turned toward Twelve so his face is in plain view and it’s Handler D.

“No, I said _£7.99_ ,” the bored looking cashier behind him says, enunciating his words extra slowly but Handler D isn’t paying him any attention and neither is Twelve.

Twelve is rooted to the spot. Stares in complete and utter shock, unable to move or do or say anything.

He’d thought Handler D dead but here he is, standing in a Tesco Express staring back at Twelve, very much alive.

“Sir?” the cashier says, sounding annoyed, and then again a moment later when Handler D still doesn’t answer, a little louder this time. “ _Sir_?”

Handler D fishes a hand into his pocket, thrusts some money at the cashier hurriedly, grabs his things from the counter and stuffs them into his hoodie pocket and then he’s walking towards Twelve with a look like awe on his face which slowly morphs into a wobbly smile. Reaches out to put his hands on Twelve’s shoulders once he’s close enough and says, “ _Christ_ , it’s really you. I was so afraid you were d—that you didn’t make it. God, are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Twelve says, finally able to make his mouth work but Handler D jerks back at that, blinks at him for a minute.

“Sorry,” he says after a little while. “Just, um…just never heard you talk like that before. Was kind of expecting the whole monotone ‘I am fine’ thing.” He chuckles a little but then Liam is waving a hand from beside them.

“Um, hey, hi, hello. Does anyone maybe wanna fill me in on what’s going on?”

“Right. Sorry, sorry, I, um—we—this is—this is, um—this is Handler D,” Twelve finally stutters out.

“Oh,” Liam says, eyes wide in shock now too as he stares at Handler D.

“Not anymore,” Handler D says, shaking his head. “It’s just Danny now.”

Liam blanches at that before quickly schooling his features trying to hide his reaction and Twelve wonders if he’s thinking of his own Danny, the one he was with before, back when Twelve was still monitoring him.

“Um, this is Liam,” Twelve says, since Liam seems shocked into silence himself now.

“Oh. Good to meet you, Liam.” Handler D nods at him, holding out his hand for Liam to shake—which Liam returns though still looking a bit shell-shocked—and Twelve notices that the movement is a bit stiff. Thinks of the gunshots he heard in the moments just before his comms went out the last time they spoke and realizes he must have been injured. Clearly not badly enough to keep him from presumably fighting his way out, but enough that it’s still affecting him even now, over a year later.

“ _God_ , I still can’t believe you’re okay,” Handler D— _Danny_ says, shaking his head as he turns back to Twelve.

“Yeah, I, um…I kind of…thought you might be dead, too.”

“Yeah, I thought I was too for a moment there. Barely made it out, to be honest, but once I did I managed to make it to my brother’s in one piece and he patched me up pretty good. He’s an EMT. Freaked the fuck out when he saw I’d been shot three times and I ended up having to tell him everything cause the one thing he can always tell about me is when I’m lying, but at least now I don’t have to anymore, you know? Still hurts when it rains,” he says, rolling his shoulder and jiggling his leg, “but small price to pay. What about you? How did you fare out there?”

Twelve shrugs, looks around at the other customers starting to eye them, especially the two of them with their hoodies. “We, um…we maybe shouldn’t be talking about this here,” he says and Handler D— _Danny_ looks around then too.

“Right, yeah, sorry. Got a bit too excited, I guess. Lost my wits there for a moment. But, look, I’m not too far from here. Give me a ring sometime and maybe we can meet up and talk if you’d be okay with that.” He rattles off his number in a low, hushed tone, shakes Liam’s hand again, looks Twelve over once more and then he’s shuffling away with the slightest of limps, barely perceptible if it weren’t for Twelve’s trained eye, hood all the way back up and head low as he makes his way through the door.

Liam is still staring after him even long after he’s gone as if he can’t quite believe what just happened. And Twelve feels about the same but they’ve already attracted enough attention and don’t need to be drawing anymore with Liam standing in front of the aisle staring out the door like he is. So Twelve keeps his voice low, says, “ _Liam_ ,” and jerks his head in the direction of the snacks which is what they came in here for in the first place. Liam nods, goes to grab a few things off the shelf, still seeming a bit like he’s in a daze and takes them up to the register, Twelve hanging back a bit from the counter because the cashier is staring at him.

“Don’t try anything funny,” he says to Twelve as he rings Liam’s things up. Twelve ignores him, follows Liam out the door once he’s done and then they’re headed back to the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So apparently I’ve now reached the point where I’m[shit posting](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/168372905523/remember-that-time-liam-almost-cut-a-bitch-for) [about this fic](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/168372902968/remember-that-time-liam-looked-like-he-wanted-to) so cheers to reaching new lows lol**
> 
>  
> 
> Also just wanted to point out that the second to last scene was another scene heavily inspired by one from [Circling Back](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1467004/chapters/3091645) (tbh there’s probably quite a few throughout the fic that I didn’t cite because I felt like I’d changed/reworded them enough that it wasn’t too close/too obvious but this scene was another one that heavily parallels one in chaya’s fic so just wanted to give credit again where it’s due)
> 
> As always comments and kudos feed my soul and are super appreciated! Hope you enjoyed! :)


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate! And Happy Holidays!   
> Enjoy the double post :)

_Liam_

Louis’ sat next to Twelve on the couch one Saturday morning, chattering on to the lot of them about some annoying client from work when he suddenly looks down and stops.

“Jesus, what the hell happened? Did you get into a fight with a raccoon?” he says to Twelve, pointing to a spot near his elbow, just below his shirtsleeve where the edge of a red mark that Liam hadn’t noticed before peeks out.

“What?” Twelve says, confused. He looks down at where Louis’ pointing, lifts up the sleeve of his shirt and turns his arm to reveal a long, angry red gash running down the side of it, not too deep but enough that it looks like it would hurt pretty bad. Twelve looks down at it in confusion like he’s trying to figure out how it got there, like he hadn’t even felt it, and he probably didn’t. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding a little dazed.

“It, um…it might have been that loose screw that’s still in the bathroom doorway, the one I told you about a couple weeks ago,” Liam mumbles, feeling guilty that he missed something so glaring like that with Twelve, that it took Louis of all people noticing it for him to even realize. “Someone from maintenance was supposed to come a while ago but they never did and I meant to call them back but it’s been so long since I scheduled the visit and I got so used to avoiding it I kind of…forgot it was there I guess.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I guess I did too,” Twelve says, looking back down at his arm. It still looks fairly fresh so it must’ve happened at some point in the last twenty-four hours otherwise it would’ve probably started to heal already, at least according to Liam’s rough estimation. It’s not the first cut or scrape Twelve’s gotten since being here but it’s probably the worst so far so it might take a little longer, though Liam’s still kind of fuzzy on how the whole superfast healing timetable goes, so who knows.

“It really doesn’t hurt?” Louis says squinting down at it and then looking back up at Twelve.

Twelve shakes his head.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Louis laments, shaking his own head and then glancing over at Liam with a small smirk. “Well, you should at least still let Liam kiss it better, you know, just as a precaution.”

“Shut up, Lou, that’s not funny,” Liam says, shifting a bit uncomfortably in the recliner and trying to turn his attention back to the telly.

He waits a beat before glancing back over at Twelve anxiously and Twelve is looking at him but turns away quickly too as soon as they catch eyes, probably just as uncomfortable as Liam is right about now.

God he fucking hates how Louis always has to make everything unnecessarily awkward and uncomfortable. Especially when it comes to him and Twelve. Things are fragile enough between the two of them as it is, especially with Liam trying so desperately to keep a lid on his own feelings, he doesn’t need Louis making it worse.

*

Louis, predictably, makes it worse.

He’s always had a penchant for making people, particularly Liam, uncomfortable and it’s not like the jokes about him and Twelve are a new thing obviously, but it’s like seeing just how much _more_ uncomfortable it makes Liam lately has made Louis want to up the ante even more. Now he finds ways to make jokes about it pretty much every chance he gets, apparently with no regard to how uncomfortable it’s likely making Twelve feel too.

Every time Liam chooses to sit in the recliner instead of the couch or the couch instead of the floor or wherever it is that Twelve’s _not_ Louis will pipe up with something like, “What, you don’t wanna sit next your boyfriend?” or “Come and cuddle with your boytoy, Liam,” or something equally awkward.

Once when they’re watching some horror film he stage-whispers extra loudly, “Don’t you wanna come hold Twelve’s hand so he doesn’t get scared, Liam?”

Another time when they’re watching some random gay coming-of-age film Harry’s been raving about for ages Louis points at the two the main characters on the screen when they finally kiss and goes, “Aww, look, it’s Liam and Twelve, _bless_.”

When they all go out for dinner again, at a much less fancy restaurant that thankfully doesn’t make a fuss about hoodies, the first thing Louis says when they sit down is, “Better hide the knives. Don’t want Liam trying to murder our waiter for daring to flirt with his man again.”

And when he’s not _physically_ around to be an obnoxious little twat he’s sending Liam all kinds of suggestive texts about how he should jump Twelve’s bones and claim his territory or whatever before some waiter or some other random person on the street does it first.

And honestly Liam’s had about enough.

“Louis, you need to _quit it_ ,” he says through gritted teeth out in the corridor where he’s dragged Louis after his fifth joke of the night about Liam “servicing” his “boyfriend.”

Liam’s been a bit more attentive with Twelve tonight than usual, sure, he’s willing to admit that. Twelve had a bit of a rough night last night but so far hasn’t been willing to talk to Liam about it. He spent nearly forty-five minutes in the shower in the middle of the night and said he was fine when he came out. But Liam suspects he never really went back to sleep after that and he’s been a little out of it all day so Liam’s been extra careful about checking in with him today, making him meals and snacks and tea and making sure he’s comfortable and feeling okay, and especially that he’s still alright with everyone being over. But the last thing Twelve needs right now is Louis making him feel even more weird on top of it all with his relentless jokes about Liam “servicing” him because of it.

He knows Louis’ just being Louis, following his typical fashion of not knowing or not caring where to draw the line, but right now he really needs Louis to _acknowledge_ the line, and even more importantly, to actually respect it for once.

“ _You_ need to stop overreacting,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

“I am _not_ overreacting.”

Louis looks at him pointedly, eyebrow raised. “You kind of are.”

“Really? And since when is being concerned for Twelve’s mental well-being ‘overreacting’? Cause last time I checked that’s called caring, something maybe you should try sometime.”

“When it turned into projecting, that’s when.”

“ _What_?”

“Newsflash, Liam, _he’s_ not the one that’s uncomfortable. _You_ are.”

“Sorry, did you _not_ see his face in there?” Liam says, gesturing back to the door. “Were we looking at the same person? Cause he looked pretty uncomfortable to me.”

“He _wasn’t_ until he looked at you and saw how uncomfortable _you_ were.”

“Are you serious? _Every_ time you make jokes like that he looks uncomfortable. I don’t know what you _think_ you saw, but I’ve seen how he gets when you say stuff like that. If anything, you’re the one projecting, you were probably just seeing whatever you wanted to see so you didn’t have to feel guilty about it.”

“Could say the same for you,” Louis says, crossing his arms.

“Jesus Christ,” Liam mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, this is getting nowhere, obviously, but just regardless of how you think he feels could you just quit it with the jokes please? At least for tonight?”

“Fine. Whatever,” Louis says, rolling his eyes again as he heads back inside, but he thankfully doesn’t make another inappropriate joke for the rest of the night for which Liam is grateful, even if it is only short-lived.

*

“What does it mean when someone asks if you’re a top or a bottom?” Twelve says one afternoon when Liam’s come home early from work and Liam promptly drops his phone and stares into space for about a minute because there’s no way he heard what he thinks he just heard.

He’s only just walked in the door and had been in the middle of sending Harry a thank you text for coming by to coax Twelve out of bed earlier and cheer him up while Liam was gone. But this is not at all what he expected to come home to.

“What,” he finally says, forcing himself to turn and actually look at Twelve, make sure he hears him properly this time.

“I was watching a show on that Netflix thing with Harry earlier,” he explains, “and these two blokes were at a party and one of them asked the other if he was a top or a bottom, but Harry wouldn’t tell me what it meant. He said I should ask you.”

Liam immediately starts mentally running through all the ways he could murder Harry in his sleep without anyone finding out because Louis is bad enough, though that he at least expects. But _this_? This is very not funny.

“I—I think…” he starts after a very pregnant pause, “I think…it would be better if you…looked that one up on your own.”

Twelve huffs in frustration and glares. “That’s what you told me last time but it didn’t help,” he says sounding slightly annoyed. “The internet’s gotten way weirder and more confusing from how I remember it. All I remember is Youtube and online games and instant messaging, but when I tried to look up that ‘buttering your muffin’ thing the only thing even remotely helpful I found was some forum where people were using all these random letters and abbreviations and those little moving pictures to talk about their favorite moments from some film, and some random guy’s blog where he went on a whole long rant about the best brand of butter to use when baking in preparation for, and I quote, ‘food sex.’ And I may not remember what buttering your muffin means but I’m pretty sure that’s _not_ it. If you don’t wanna help me, fine, but stop telling me to look shit up myself cause it’s not helpful and it only ends up making me even more confused than before and I’ve got enough of that to deal with already.”

Fuck. Now Liam’s gonna feel like shit if he _doesn’t_ tell him, which means now he _has_ to tell him and _God_ , how does he always end up getting into these awkward situations with Twelve?

Liam sighs, picks up his phone which luckily isn’t cracked since it fell on the carpet, pockets it, fidgets and looks around the room nervously for a bit before finally focusing on a spot about a foot to the side of Twelve’s face.

“It’s, um…it’s sort of a…a sex thing. Like whoever prefers to be on the…the, um… _receiving_ side of things is the—the bottom…because they’re generally…on the bottom. And the person who prefers to…give, I guess you could call it, is…is generally on the—on the top, so…” he trails off awkwardly, still avoiding Twelve’s face and hopes that answer is sufficient enough because he doesn’t know how much longer he can do this.

“Oh,” Twelve says. “That’s something people choose?”

And Jesus Christ, Liam didn’t think he could get any more uncomfortable than he already was but Twelve says it like he hadn’t even known it _could_ be a choice. Like he’d thought people were just… _meant_ to be one or the other and that’s probably what _they_ made him believe.

“Yeah,” Liam says, finally looking at him. “Some people prefer to stick to one…side or role, I guess you could call it. But there’s also some people who like both, depending on the situation or who they’re with or how they feel in the moment. It really just depends on what you feel most comfortable with or what you, um…like the most.”

Twelve nods like he understands but apparently there’s no limit to how much more uncomfortable Liam can get in the space of five minutes because the next thing Twelve says is, “How do you figure out which one you like the most?”

“Um…trial and error, mostly,” Liam says stiffly, voice unnaturally high and yeah, he is very done with this conversation. Twelve seems satisfied enough with that answer and doesn’t seem like he’s gearing up to ask anything else, thank God, so after another brief pause Liam says, “Think I’m gonna go for a run now…” and changes lightning fast into his running clothes before he’s out the door, trying to clear his mind with the magical power of fresh air and sunlight.

*

Liam’s really starting to feel like the universe has it out for them. Twelve more so than him for obvious reasons, but still. The way things keep happening it’s hard not to feel like the target of about a thousand cosmic jokes sometimes.

It’s only been a few weeks since they ran into Handler D—or rather Danny, _Twelve’s_ Danny—in the petrol station. And yet here they are in a random aisle of the local Tesco when Liam suddenly hears a familiar voice call his name.

“Liam?” someone calls and Liam whips his head around to find Danny, _his_ Danny, sauntering toward him from the other end of the aisle.

“Oh, Danny, um, hey,” he says suddenly feeling supremely awkward as Danny gets closer. He’s still not entirely sure how to feel about how things ended between them. On the one hand he still feels a bit guilty knowing he probably could’ve tried a little harder to be more attentive and make things work, that it’s partly his fault that things went the way they did. But on the other hand he’s a bit resentful of the way Danny just cut him off and didn’t even give him a chance to try to explain or make it up to him. Even now he can’t help but wonder if things ended they way they did between them in part because Danny was just looking for an excuse to end it. “Um, how are you?”

“I’m alright, yeah, you?” Danny says, nodding as he continues to saunter closer and Liam’s not sure if he’s just imagining it or projecting or whatever but he feels like maybe he detects a slight passive-aggressiveness in Danny’s tone.

To make things even more awkward Liam is distinctly aware of Twelve’s presence nearby. Twelve is still a few paces away from him, eyes scanning the shelves a bit further down so it’s not necessarily obvious that they’re here together. But Danny must’ve been standing at the end of the aisle long enough to have seen Liam with him and realize that they are because when he’s close enough not to have to raise his voice anymore he juts his chin in Twelve’s direction and says, voice low, “That him, then?”

“What?” Liam says, confused.

“The reason you were so weird and dodgy while we were dating.”

Liam shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably, says, “Um…”

But Danny doesn’t even give him a chance to answer, just cranes his neck out past Liam and sticks out a hand in a wave, “Hi!” he calls to Twelve, overly loud.

Liam knows Twelve’s heard their whole conversation along with probably most everyone else’s in the store but Twelve still turns around ever so slowly as if just now becoming aware of the situation and levels his intense gaze on Danny.

“I’m Danny, I’m a friend of Liam’s! It’s nice to meet you, um…?” Danny says, clearly waiting for an introduction with a name.

“Hello,” Twelve replies calmly, and his voice is flat, emotionless like it sounds when he’s in operative mode although Liam can tell he’s just putting on an act right now, possibly to freak Danny out. He doesn’t smile or make any motion to return Danny’s fake friendliness or pleasantries and Liam loves him for it. He still has his hood up as usual and it only makes him appear even more menacing as he stares intently, not saying anything else, until Danny seems to get uncomfortable, turning back to Liam who tries hard to hide his smirk.

Danny fidgets, eyes darting back and forth between Liam and Twelve and Liam knows without even turning to look back at Twelve again that he’s still staring, doing the absolute most to make Danny uncomfortable.

“Is, um…is something wrong with him?” Danny mutters, low and conspiratorial, leaning into Liam a little.

“ _Nothing’s_ wrong with him,” Liam snaps, which is the exact opposite of the truth but he’s not about to tell Danny that and quite frankly, even though Danny doesn’t know Twelve can hear him, it’s pretty rude of him to ask considering he doesn’t even know Twelve and it’s none of his business anyway.

“Right. Okay,” Danny says seeming to back down. “Well, um…it was nice to see you again, Liam. And your, um…friend.” He nods politely in Twelve’s direction and then again at Liam before he says, “See you around, I guess.”

Liam nods but doesn’t return the sentiment and after a brief pause and another cursory anxious glance towards Twelve, Danny turns and heads back the way he came.

“I don’t like him,” Twelve says immediately once Danny’s turned the corner, suddenly at Liam’s side.

“Yeah, well, he’s not usually that much of an arsehole. I think it’s probably just leftover resentment from how things ended.”

Twelve shakes his head. “I didn’t like him before either. Or—not that I didn’t like him because I didn’t really know what that meant, but…I didn’t trust him. Something about him isn’t genuine. It’s like he wants people to like him so he pretends to be nice and does nice things but he doesn’t mean any of it. I can see it in his face and hear it in his voice when he speaks. His eyes never match the emotions he’s expressing and half the time his tone is just an affect. It’s slight, so much so that he may not even be fully aware himself that he’s doing it, but I can hear the difference between when he says something the way he really means it and when he’s just pretending.”

“Oh,” Liam says lamely.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…sometimes I guess I forget just how much of my life you already know, how much you _saw_.”

“Does it bother you? That I saw so much without you knowing?”

“Not really, not anymore anyway. I think at first I was kind of freaked out by it but now…I don’t know, I guess if I had to have anyone spy on me I’m glad it was you, as weird as that might sound. It’s still a bit of a shock though sometimes remembering all the things you can do. I mean, some of them I’m kind of used to, like the hearing thing and the super strength and that, but I guess I sometimes still forget about all the other things you can do, like how good you are at analyzing people.”

“Only certain people,” Twelve says a little morosely, staring at the jars of jam in front of him.

Liam frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, shaking his head dismissively. “Just…it has its limits.”

Liam nods in understanding, eyeing Twelve a little dubiously before reaching for the jar of jam he’s been staring resolutely at for the past few moments. “Did you want this one?”

Twelve nods, brow furrowed in what could be concentration or contemplation. Liam’s not nearly as good at reading people as Twelve is but he has a feeling there’s something more going on with him that he doesn’t want to tell Liam about. Whatever it is it seems to be taking up a lot of his attention lately.

“Was jam always this much?” Twelve says suddenly, frowning down at the price tags in front of them. “I don’t remember it costing this much. I don’t remember _anything_ being this expensive.” He looks around at the other price tags now, the ones in the adjacent sections and then the ones further down the aisle with a slightly lost, slightly despondent look on his face. “And I know that shouldn’t be a big deal but…I don’t know if it’s because I was just a kid, like too young to pay much attention to that sort of thing, or if I legitimately don’t remember because of—”

He cuts himself off abruptly and he doesn’t need to finish because Liam knows exactly where he’s going.

“To be quite honest, I don’t really remember either,” Liam says, hoping it comes across as comforting as he meant it and letting out a little relieved breath when he looks at Twelve and sees he doesn’t look as distressed as he had a moment ago.

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

Liam smiles, shakes his head. “Definitely not. I swear on my life that I don’t remember what the price of jam was in 2005. Or 2006, or 2007, or even last year to be honest. I feel like it might have actually been less last year than it is now, but then again my memory’s not the best so for all I know the price could have actually lowered since then.” He shrugs, handing the jar to Twelve to put in the basket as he grabs two more. “Knowing you we’ll be through all three of these before the week’s out.”

Twelve smiles. “Maybe we’ll meet another Danny too before the week’s out.”

“Touché. Guess now I’m gonna have to start calling them Nice Danny and Not Nice Danny like I do with the Jerry’s,” Liam says laughing. “Yours is the nice one of course.”

“Of course. Ironic as it is.”

“Somewhere there’s an ancient cosmic being in a fit of giggles watching this all play out.”

“Think we’re giving them a good laugh?” Twelve says grinning.

Liam grins back. “We’d better be, otherwise what’s the point?”


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skiving/skiving off = ditching/skipping work
> 
> shopping centre = pretty much the same as a mall (which i know might seem obvious but just putting that out there to avoid confusion cause in the U.S. there’s a slight difference between the two whereas in the U.K. the terms seem to be used interchangeably as far as I can tell though feel free to correct me if I’m wrong if there’s any Brits reading this)

_Zayn_

Sometimes. Sometimes he catches Liam looking at him when Liam thinks he isn’t paying attention and sometimes. Sometimes he thinks…sometimes he wonders. But Liam is confusing. He moves away whenever Twelve gets too close, hardly touches Twelve unless he absolutely has to, and he looks extremely uncomfortable anytime someone—mainly Louis—makes a joke about him being more than friendly with Twelve, as if even just the thought of it repulses him.

They’re in the car on the way home from Tesco’s, stopped at a stoplight and Liam is looking at him even though he has no reason to. Twelve is leaned against the passenger side window, hasn’t made any sudden movements or said anything that would otherwise draw Liam’s attention since they first got in the car. But Liam is looking. Looking at him like he does sometimes and it’s moments like these that leave him wondering if it’s possible. Possible that Liam could feel…something more for him. But everything is so jumbled in his head. He thinks of the way Liam looked at him in the tub all those months ago and he can’t remember now if Liam really looked at him that way or if he dreamed it up, if it’s just his mind mixing up his dreams with reality again, but what if it’s not?

He knows they kissed once. Before all of this. Knows now that it meant something to Liam then, even if his younger self, the Boy, hadn’t. That there had maybe been something there that neither of them had been willing or ready to own up to, much less talk about. But he’s not that boy anymore and neither is Liam. He can’t expect Liam to feel the same way about this _thing_ he’s become now that he felt for the boy Twelve used to be so many years ago, a lifetime ago. Even if none of this had ever happened, if he’d just moved away for ten years and then came back and ran into Liam it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to still feel the same way, and the only real obstacle there would have been time. But this, _now_ , everything that’s happened on top of all the time that’s passed only makes it even less so.

There are all these little moments like these though, little things that happen that leave him feeling confused but then he’s reminded of everything else. Reminded of things like how uncomfortable Liam gets around him sometimes or how he’ll just move away abruptly if they’ve been in too close proximity for too long. And it’s not often, most of the time Liam seems perfectly fine around him as long as there’s a fair amount of space between them, but it’s often enough. And even more so when it comes to physical contact. It seems like the only time he remembers Liam feeling comfortable enough to touch him is when he’s had an episode or when he’s been ill, soft touches to his face and hair, his arms. It’s almost like he’s a different Liam then, less standoffish, less reserved, and it’s not that he treats Twelve any differently when he isn’t ill. He’s still just as caring, always checking in and making sure Twelve is okay and asking him what he needs. It’s just that he seems to keep his distance more when there’s no situation that actually requires him to be close by and if it’s because of what Twelve thinks it is, because of how he is, _what_ he is, then he gets it.

He’s killed so many people. Innocent people. Not so innocent people. Some who probably deserved it. Others who didn’t. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s a monster, a murderer. How could he ever expect _anyone_ , much less Liam, to see him as anything other than that knowing all that he’s done, knowing how much blood is on his hands that he can never wash off?

Liam might care for him in a friendly sense, might feel some sort of sympathy for the things that Twelve has been through, things that no human being, no _child_ should have had to face, the things that turned him into the monster he is now. And he might feel a sense of responsibility to Twelve as someone who was once his friend, care about Twelve’s wellbeing in an objective sense. But he doesn’t think there’s anyway Liam could ever feel more for him than that. And even if by some miracle he _did_ Twelve would never deserve it.

It’s this that he reminds himself of when confusing things like this happen. Sometimes just for a moment he thinks maybe…maybe Liam feels it too. Maybe it’s not just him reading into things. Maybe there’s a chance that there is still _more_ there like there used to be all those years ago. But then he remembers everything he’s done and everything Liam knows and the way he acts around Twelve any other time but these fleeting moments—friendly comfortableness, but nothing more than that, safe distances and obligatory touches—and remembers how naive he’s being for even thinking it. For even questioning it.

*

He’s flipping through the pages of his sketchbook again, the secret one, though he guesses it’s not so secret anymore and thinks about the last time he did this, everything Harry said. How it is they can look at him and not see a monster, a murderer, a cold-blooded assassin. Traces the soft lines of Liam’s smile, a smile directed at him, and tries to stop the onslaught of treacherous thoughts.

He’d eventually ended up showing Harry his sketchbook that same day, had felt a little bit like he was laying himself bare, but he couldn’t _not_ show him after everything else. Trying to hide it at that point would have been futile and it was clear from the way the conversation even started in the first place that Harry already suspected anyway. Clear enough in his tone and his plain expression that he knew, or at least was pretty sure, what was really going on with Twelve. Part of it anyway. But the other part, that’s something he’s only just now coming to terms with.

He’s been thinking about it a lot, their conversation, and he thinks he understands now what Harry meant about the operative being a part of him. He _is_ him still—the operative, like the Boy—and Harry might not ever understand that, but he’s _also_ just a part of him, like Harry said. A small part of who he is, who he _was_ , intertwined with the other parts of him that make him _him_. Separate from who he is now but altogether incomplete alone because there can’t be a whole without the three. There can’t be a him _now_ without the three. He’s all of them, yes, but the other two are also just parts that can fall into the background when he needs them to or be called up to the surface when he needs them to, when he needs their skills, their memories. He gets that now, now that he’s finally starting to feel more like himself, less like a stranger in his own skin. They’re him, were him, are him, but they’re also not.

That doesn't make him any less responsible for what he's done though. He may not be the only one to blame but he does still share that blame. The _act_ is on him even if the fault, the decision, isn’t.

*

He dreams of a little girl, no older than Safaa was when he was taken, wriggling in his arms as he carries her into the room where his target is. The man won’t talk no matter what Twelve does to him, he knows that. But Twelve knows he has a weakness. Her. He sets her down in front of the man, her big eyes looking back and forth between the two of them in confusion, lingering on Twelve’s muzzle. She calls out to her father in stunted syllables but he can do nothing for her now with his limbs restrained to the chair as they are. The man sneers at Twelve, spits at him, curses him in Russian. He does not think Twelve will hurt her. That much is clear in his continued resistance and uncooperativeness.

Twelve takes the girl’s arm in his hand, feels her small, frail bones snap under his fingers, her shrill scream and the wails and sobs that follow an assault on his ears but he tunes it out. It is not important. She is crying, screaming for her father, but Twelve doesn’t care, it is not what matters. All that matters is the information the man is now stumbling over in his haste to get it out and be free as he fights against his restraints with all his remaining strength.

He begs to be let go. Twelve does not know if this is allowed, but he has completed his mission, he has attained the information he was sent to receive, and so he does not see any further need for the man to remain bound. He lets the man go, watches him limp and stumble the few feet across the floor to his daughter in curious fascination for a moment. But he is on strict time constraints and cannot linger. He slips out the window he came in from, into the black night.

When he wakes up next to Liam in a cold sweat he can still hear the echo of her scream, still feel the snap of her bones underneath his fingers. He can’t stop shaking for the rest of the night, can’t close his eyes without seeing her small face staring up at him, frozen in shock and pain. Can’t hear anything but the echo of that scream and the sound of bones snapping and he stares out the window, tries with all his might to focus on the clouds, the sky, the city lights in the distance, anything to get his mind off of this. Out of this awful loop. But no matter what he does he can’t seem to escape it.

*

“Twelve? Did you hear me?”

“What?”

“I was saying I’m gonna be working late today,” Liam says, gathering up a stack of papers and sliding them across the counter into his messenger bag. “Harry and Louis’ll be over in a bit. Lou’s skiving off today apparently.”

“Oh. Ok.”

Liam looks at him for a moment and then stops what he’s doing, hands stilling over his bag. “I can tell them not to come, you know. They’ll understand.”

“What? I mean...why?”

“Because you look like you’re about five seconds from keeling over in your seat.”

Twelve shakes his head. “M’fine.”

Liam sighs, tone gentle when he says, “Have you even slept at all the past three days?”

Twelve doesn’t answer.

“Yeah…that’s what I figured.” Liam pauses, pulling out his phone from his pocket. “I’m just gonna call Haz and tell him it’s not a good time to—”

“Please don’t.” He thinks of the little girl’s bones snapping under his fingers, how that could just as easily have been Safaa and he wouldn’t have even known the difference. Thinks of a boy, only a few years younger than him at the time, lying in bed with a bloody hole in his head, identical ones in the heads of his parents in the next room while Twelve had slinked out undetected. Thinks of the woman he’d left lying in a pool of her own blood, neck sliced open because she wouldn’t give up the information he’d been sent to get and those had been his orders if she proved uncooperative. “I…I need something to take my mind off things. _Please_. I don’t…I don’t wanna be alone right now.”

Liam’s mid-dial but he looks back up at Twelve at this, looks him right in the eyes, and then sighs again. “Okay. Okay. Just…if you need to bow out for any reason, for a nap or time alone or whatever, just promise me you’ll do it, okay? No putting on a brave face just for them. If you need it, just take it. They’ll understand. Okay? Promise?”

“Promise.” Twelve nods.

“Okay. I should be back in time for dinner. Maybe a late dinner. I’ll let you know. See you tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Liam gives a curt nod, gathers up his things and then he’s out the door.

The harsh silence that follows is loud, but not as loud as the sound of bones breaking and shrill cries, the muffled click of a gunshot suppressed by a silencer, the desperate chokes and gurgles from a sliced open trachea.

He turns on the telly, volume up as loud as his ears can stand to try and drown it all out. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the screen but not really watching it, before there’s a knock on the door.

“Jesus, you look like shit,” Louis says as soon as Twelve opens the door. “And that’s saying something given the usual state of your annoyingly symmetrical face.”

“Yeah, fuck you, too…but thanks, I guess?”

“Would’ve left him at home if I could, but he’s my ride,” Harry says with a shrug as he follows Louis in. “Cab fare’s starting to rack up and I’d have to take too many buses and trams to get over here from our place on my own so I might not be able to make it over as much for a while. At least not until the magazine bumps my pay, which will hopefully be in another couple months if I get promoted to head editor like I’m hoping.”

“Blah, blah, blah, no one cares. We all know you’re going to get it anyway, those other dicks don’t do shit but sit around with their thumbs up their arses and leave all the hard work to you.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “This coming from the guy currently skiving? Ironic. Appreciate the vote of confidence, Lou, but everything else was unnecessary. You don’t even know my co-workers.”

“I know enough.”

“Whatever,” Harry says turning back to Twelve. “Anyway, if you’re up for it, T, we were actually thinking of going to the shopping centre.”

“You remember shopping centres, right? Big places with lots of shops and shitty fast food?” Louis teases.

“Again, fuck you. But yeah, I’m up for it.”

The car ride over is nice. It’s warm and Louis puts all the windows down and blasts indie rock songs, some of them old songs he actually remembers. The warm breeze feels nice on his face and the music is a nice distraction from his thoughts. He’s not really paying attention to the conversation, more focused on the music and the sound of the wind in his ears, but he tunes in when he hears Harry saying his name.

“Twelve? Do you wanna go in on this side or the other side? The other side’s closer to the shoe shops but this side’s closer to Armani and Lou wants to go look at the expensive sunglasses and watches he can’t afford.”

“Liam loves watches,” he blurts before his head has a chance to catch up with his mouth and damn his fucked up brain. It’s like sometimes he has too much of a filter and other times he has absolutely none. How is it he can spend so much of his time keeping everything locked inside his head where it belongs and yet other times he can’t seem to stop himself from blurting the first thing that pops into his head?

“Okay…” Harry says slowly squinting his eyes a little in confusion. He looks for a moment as if he’s gearing up to ask what the hell that was all about—which is the same thing Twelve is wondering himself honestly—before he seems to decide to just let it go. “It’s just we’re trying to figure out if we should park closer to this side or not and you’re kind of the tie breaker so…”

“Right. Um…shoe shops are fine.”

“Traitor,” Louis calls over his shoulder before making a sharp left toward the other car park.

It’s not very crowded with it being fairly early in the day on a weekday which Twelve is thankful for because it means less people staring at him in his hoodie but he does still get a few suspicious looks from clerks working the floor in some of the shops they browse through.

He doesn’t intend to look around when they eventually get to Armani. He’s mostly just been following Louis and Harry around, watching them try things on and declining offers to try anything on himself or for either of them to get anything for him. But they’re drifting aimlessly through the watch section when one catches his eye.

It’s perfect for Liam. Sleek black stainless steel with rose gold-etched numbers on a dark grey face and he can already picture it on Liam’s wrist the moment he sees it. His birthday is coming up and Twelve desperately wishes he could get him something like that, something more than a crappy sketch and a note but it’s not like he has any money to buy it with. He could maybe ask his mum to bring the jar of money he’d been saving up from when he was little when they come visit this weekend, if they even still have it. But even with that he’d still only be able to cover about two-thirds of the price, he’d still need help to cover the rest.

Louis stops too a moment later to look at a watch in the next display case over but the clerk behind the counter where Liam’s watch is—funny how he’s already started thinking of it as that—notices Twelve looking and smiles, beckoning him over and Twelve goes. Figures it can’t hurt to just look even if he can’t actually get it. That’s the only reason Louis came in here after all anyway.

Surprisingly the woman doesn’t bat an eye at Twelve’s hoodie as he comes closer, though the man a few feet over pitching one of their watches to Louis eyes Twelve a little suspiciously but he ignores it.

“I see one of our watches caught your eye,” the woman says. “I can give you a closer look if you like, if you wouldn’t mind pointing out which one caught your interest.”

“Um…second shelf, the one in the middle,” he mumbles.

“Lovely choice, one of our top sellers.”

He watches her unlock the case and place the watch carefully on the counter before she starts in on a likely rehearsed speech, pointing to all the different parts as she describes them.

“As I mentioned this one’s a customer favorite. Designed with a more minimalist yet elegant style in mind it has a muted silhouette and a polished slim stainless steel case with a matte finish to contrast the rose gold accent of the Roman numerals and grey face, and has been paired with a contemporary Milanese stainless steel strap and a fold-over clasp to complete the look. Perfect for someone with more of a minimalist style. No glitz or glam or bells and whistles, just simple and elegant and, most importantly, available at an affordable price.”

Louis, apparently done with talking to the other clerk, leans over to him then, whispering, “Affordable price, my arse. The JL a few doors down’s got one just like it for less than half that.” He turns back to the clerks behind the counter, smiling and nodding politely at them. “Thanks so much for all your help, we’re gonna think on it and come back later.”

They weave their way back through the aisles toward the exit, finding Harry wandering around women’s side on the way and Louis raises an eyebrow.

“Something you want to tell us, Harold? Secret kink we should know about?”

“Shut up,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes and then they’re out in the main passageway, Louis guiding them over to another shop that it takes Twelve a moment to realize is the one he was just talking about. He leads them straight to the watch section, walks up to one of the display cases, points and says, “That one please.”

The man behind the counter scrambles a bit, clearly caught off guard by Louis’ abruptness, before going to pull it out. He places it on the counter and Louis takes one look at it and says, “Yup,” pulling out his wallet.

The man scrambles again to put the watch back in the display case and go digging behind it a moment before he pulls out a small box which he carries over to the register.

“Louis, what—I said I didn’t want you to get anything for me,” Twelve says, “you don’t have to—”

“But this isn’t for you, is it? Loopholes, mate, loopholes. Besides, doesn’t matter who bought it, he’ll just be happy it’s from you. Saves you from giving him some cheesy homemade birthday gift made out of macaroni or something anyway.” He turns back to the clerk to hand over his card. “Could you gift bag it, please?”

The man nods, finishes ringing him up and then takes out a little gift bag and some tissue paper from behind the counter, placing the box and the paper inside and handing Louis the receipt. Louis thanks him, gliding back over to them and dropping the little bag into Twelve’s hands.

“Louis—”

“Nope. Shut up and accept it.”

*

Twelve is nervous. Liam’s phone is pressed to his ear, ringing the number he’s had memorized for weeks now, the number he’s been too nervous to work up the nerve to call.

“Hello?” a voice says on the other end.

Handler D.

 _Danny_.

“…Hey,” he says, still a little hesitant, “it’s um…it’s Twelve.”

“Twelve, hey, I was hoping you’d call. Is, um…is everything okay? You sound a little…I don’t know...”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, it’s just…weird, I guess? Feels like I should be talking to you through comms or something, you know?”

Handler D— _Danny_ laughs. “Yeah, I guess it is a bit strange, isn’t it? We could, um…we could maybe meet up? If you want? If that’d be less weird for you…maybe at the park a couple blocks down from the Tesco Express if that’s not too far from where you are and go back to mine?”

“Um…yeah, yeah, I’d like that.”

“Ok, see you in twenty?”

“Yeah.”

“Everything okay?” Liam says when Twelve hands him back his phone.

“Yeah, I’m um…I’m gonna go meet up with him for a bit.”

“Oh. Ok, then,” Liam says eyes wide. “I would, um, I would say be safe but.”

Twelve smiles. “Yeah, got that covered. Thanks though.”

The walk to the park isn’t long. Handler D— _Danny_ is standing on the corner at the end of the block, hood up like Twelve’s but he smiles when he catches sight of Twelve.

“Guess we’re both early,” he says when Twelve is close. “Anyway, my place is back that way, or we could just chill here if you want.”

“Yours is fine. Less eyes on us and that.”

“Yeah…” he agrees, pausing a moment and then shaking his head, “sorry, it’s just still so weird hearing you talk like a…well, like a regular person.”

“Yeah, it was a bit weird for me too for a while. Trying to remember how to talk like a normal person,” Twelve says, following him as he turns around and heads up the block. “Some of it kind of started happening before I even realized it but the rest was…harder. Sometimes I still get things mixed up, like expressions and random words and stuff, and the wrong thing will come out, but…it’s easier now. Still weird getting used to calling you Danny though. I still keep thinking of you in my head as Handler D, and I have to keep reminding myself that’s not your name.”

“Yeah, I get that…we can talk more about it when we’re inside but…I imagine it must have been weird for you too, yeah? Finding out about yourself and stuff, your real name and everything? At least I’m assuming you did anyway…”

“I did, yeah.” Twelve nods, glancing around and behind them briefly.

“We’re almost there by the way,” Danny says, noticing him looking. “It’s just around this corner.”

Twelve nods, follows him up the rest of the block and around a building to a side door.

“I know it looks kind of shady, but I only go this way cause it’s quicker than the main entrance, my flat’s closer to this side so it’s less of a walk, just one corridor away instead of three.”

“How long have you been here?” Twelve asks, following him up two cases of stairs.

“Here in the city or here at this flat?”

Twelve shrugs his hood off as they go through another door and then turn down a short corridor. “Both, I guess.”

“Not long for the flat, just a few months. Came to the city pretty much straight from getting out though. My brother’s not too far from here, he’s lived here about two and half years now, but I was still living a few counties over before. S’why the Director switched you over to Handler A, or at least that was his excuse anyway,” he says, lowering his voice as he fishes his key from his pocket and unlocks his door, and then beckoning Twelve inside, shutting the door behind him before he continues. “A—Handler A—he, like, grew up here or something or lived here for a while as a kid or something like that—I don’t know, it wasn’t all that clear and I didn’t care enough to ask around—but I’d only been here a few times to visit so I didn’t know the lay of the land as well as A did. That’s what the Director said when he re-assigned me but I knew it was b.s. cause that had never been an issue before—it’s not like we didn’t already use gps, you know? But most of us knew it was really just because A was with his granddaughter and getting bumped up to a position with Alpha Team, especially with his most prized operative, was basically a conciliatory promotion.” He shrugs, drops his keys on top of a pile of jackets thrown over a chair by the door.

“Anyway, as soon I made it out I grabbed a car from the bunker lot, disabled the tracker, and went straight to my brother’s place. Showed up half-dead on my feet and nearly scared him half to death but he patched me up, let me crash at his place till I was all healed up and could get myself back on my feet again proper. Went looking for my own place as soon as I could and wound up here. It’s not much,” he says, glancing around the small flat with a small smile and a shrug, “but it’s something, you know? Everybody pretty much keeps to themselves here so I don’t have to worry about anyone asking questions or anything. Been working security at a club downtown the last few month cause they were the only ones who didn’t care too much or ask too many questions about the huge gap in my work history, so all in all things have been okay. What about you, how’d you end up with…Liam was it?” Danny calls over his shoulder, bringing over a chair from the other side of the flat for Twelve sit in and then clearing out the one full of jackets for himself and pulling it up opposite the first chair.

There’s not much in the flat, just a couple other chairs strewn about, a recliner in one corner—which Danny dumps the pile of jackets into unceremoniously—a television against the wall, a door probably leading to the bedroom, and a small kitchenette on the opposite side.

“He was, um, he was actually my mission,” Twelve says, once he and Danny have sat down. “The one I did with the team right before that, the one at the bank…Liam was there and he recognized me, called my name, but I didn’t even know it. The Director said it was just a code word, that Liam had just mistaken me for someone else, another operative. But he wanted me to monitor him, made it seem like it was just a precaution…maintain the safety of the program, anonymity of the operatives and all that. And that might’ve been part of it, but I think really he wanted to see if I’d have any kind of reaction. Liam…before all this…before the program…he was my best friend. But I didn’t even recognize him. I think…maybe the Director was trying to prove how well his programming worked or something. Had the Doctor run all these tests every week asking me a bunch of questions about Liam, my thoughts and… _feelings_.” Twelve shakes his head. “I didn’t understand it at the time but I think they were probably trying to see if my…I don’t know…continued exposure to Liam might change anything I guess, mess with my programming or override it or something. My guess is it wasn’t exactly officially sanctioned seeing as it likely wasn’t much more than just a giant science experiment so that’s probably why it was kept off the books.

“Anyway that’s where I was when you radioed about the program being shut down. Right next to Liam’s flat there’s an abandoned building where I’d been monitoring him from. I didn’t know what else to do without orders so I just stayed there and kept monitoring him. Snuck into his flat for water every now and then, moved stuff around to see if he would notice, test his observation skills cause at the time I was convinced he was a former Handler. How else would he have knowledge of code words, you know? At least that was my thinking at the time.” Twelve huffs a laugh. “It seems so ridiculous now when I think back on it. But I went on like that for months till malnutrition started to get the best of me. Tried to go to the nearest hospital to find a Nurse to help me but that didn’t work out too well obviously.”

“Christ, they must’ve thought you were completely mental.” Danny grimaces.

“Yeah, pretty much, in hindsight. Showed up with my muzzle on and everything and they redirected me to a clinic and I’m pretty sure _they_ thought I was mental too. Pretty much told me to fuck right off in the nicest way they could. I didn’t really know what else to do after that. My only other option was to go to Liam for help and I knew it was a risk but I figured if he was a Handler he’d maybe know what to do or at least be able to get help. He’d already caught me in his flat once before that, when I’d gotten distracted by the telly and didn’t hear him coming, and he’d been leaving his window open for me for a while and hadn’t called the police on me or anything so I figured it was a risk worth taking. Showed up in his flat right when I knew he’d be coming home and he took me in just like that. Showered me, fed me _real food_ , introduced me to his friends, who I very nearly tried to kill at first because I didn’t know who they were. They joke about it now but…I still feel bad about it honestly. One of them though, Louis, he helped find my family. I see them pretty much every week now, but it’s still all so weird, you know? I mean, my youngest sister was practically still a _baby_ when I left, she’d only just turned three a week before, and now she’s _fifteen_ , nearly an adult. She’s lived more of her life than I have which is insane to think about. And the other two already _are_ adults, one in uni and the other working a full-time job. _I’m_ an adult. I don’t _feel_ like one but I am. Even though up until a few months ago I couldn’t even remember how to do something as basic as work a toaster and barely a year ago I wasn’t even capable of bathing myself.”

Danny sighs, shakes his head. “God, It’s fucked. What they did to you guys. I mean, not that I didn’t already know that, but just…hearing you talk about it, especially now, it’s different than seeing it or just knowing about it, you know? The hell they put you guys through, the things they made you _do_ , made all of us do, but you guys especially…” Danny trails off, shaking his head again, dropping it into his hands.

“How do you…how do you deal with it? The memories…knowing what we—what we _did_? All the people we hurt? _Killed_?”

Danny lifts his head back up, looks at Twelve’s face and sighs, gaze dropping down to the floor. “I ask myself that all the time. I still haven’t really come up with a good answer…and I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, having been more…hands on…” he hedges. “But the best I can come up with is that we can’t change what we did, we’ll always have to live with that, you know? But…we can make an effort to do better, be better people. Now that we have a choice. I know that…I’m not evil, you know? I know that if things had been different, if I hadn’t been forced to do the things I did because of them I would never have done them and I know the same is true for you. Even more so because you had no agency, no say in what you were doing, no _feeling_ about it, whereas I did, at least in part anyway. But with you they tried everything they could to stamp it out and you _still_ fought back. You still found some way to resist which is more than I can say for most of the other operatives, and even most of the Handlers. You’re not a killer, Twelve. They tried to make you into one but that’s not you. Even then, _before_ , I could see that. Some of the others they took to it, like it was nothing, but not you. You may have learned how to play their game, keep yourself out of trouble, but that was never who you were. And I know that doesn’t make up for anything you did—anything _we_ did—but knowing that…I don’t know, it helps somehow for me at least. It’s a comfort. Maybe it can be for you too.”

“I just…I just wish I could make the nightmares stop,” Twelve says. “Or even just erase it, you know? Just erase it all like they did to me. Like it never happened. So I’d only have the good memories. Homework and family dinners and stupid fights with my sisters, Christmas at Liam’s and his mum’s fresh-baked biscuits.”

Danny smiles, but it’s sad. “Yeah…me too.”

*

Twelve doesn’t know why it feels so different when Danny says it as opposed to Harry or Liam, all the reasons why he shouldn’t feel guilty, but somehow it makes it easier, hearing it from him. Knowing it helped, and that maybe it can help Twelve too.

It takes a little while but he sleeps a little easier after that, doesn’t feel quite so heavy, so weighed down by all the guilt and shame. It’s still there obviously, probably always will be. But now that he’s made his peace with it, instead of weighing him down now he finds it just pushes him forward, makes him want to do better, _be_ better, like Danny said. He won’t ever be able to make up for all the horrible things he did, atone for all the evil and violence he’s committed, but he can make an effort to be something better, be _someone_ better, now that he has a choice. Now that he has someone to be better _for_. Even if that someone won’t ever feel the same.

But he can live with that. He’s lived with worse. He can live with this. He can be happy with this. It’s already more than he ever could have hoped he’d have after everything.

Kindness. Friendship. Love. Even if it is just platonic. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

*

The day of his birthday Liam works late again, protesting to Louis on the phone that it may be his birthday but to everyone else it’s just a regular day and he can’t afford to skiv off like some people to which Louis just rolls his eyes and mutters ‘suck up.’ Louis and Harry had come over around six, after Louis was done for the day with his own work, Niall and Sarah arriving shortly after. Now they’re all crowded around the living room with four boxes of rapidly cooling pizza sitting on the kitchen counter along with beer and snacks and presents, watching telly while they wait for Liam.

By the time Liam finally gets in it’s nearly nine and the pizza’s long gone cold. He opts to go through the presents first, laughing at the joint gift of superhero-themed underwear and the Marvel DVD box set Louis and Harry got for him and gaping at the signed first edition Batman comic Niall and Sarah got him along with the Arkham Knight video game Twelve knows he’s been wanting for a while now.

“How— _how_ did you get this? How did you _afford_ this?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” Sarah says with a smirk.

Liam shakes his head, still in awe, but he leans in for a group hug with them both anyway, mumbling, “You guys are amazing,” into Niall’s shoulder.

“Aww Payno, you’re welcome, man,” Niall says with a laugh and a pat to Liam’s back.

Twelve’s gift is last and he watches Liam rummage through the tissue paper for the box with an anxious coil in his stomach. Liam looks at the box with raised eyebrows, popping it open to reveal the folded piece of paper Twelve tucked into the inside of the lid and the watch wrapped around a little pillow atop the velvety interior, stainless steel gleaming in the light.

“Whoa,” Liam says on a breathy exhale, taking it out carefully and staring at it a moment before he puts it on.

“Do you like it?” Twelve says anxiously.

“I love it,” Liam replies with a crinkly smile. “It’s beautiful.”

He takes out the piece of paper tucked into the lid next, unfolding it to reveal the sketch Twelve drew of him in the park, the one with the sun shining right behind him like a halo, body pitched forward mid-laugh. Twelve watches Liam trace over it with his fingers before he looks back up at Twelve with another smile, softer this time. “This is amazing, _really_ , thank you.”

“Right, so…pizza before we all start crying at this beautiful display of disgustingly sweet sincerity?” Louis says with a clap of his hands, but he doesn’t really wait for anyone to respond before he’s grabbing the topmost box and flipping it open.

He’d already stuck candles into it earlier, and he rummages around in Liam’s junk drawer for a lighter and lights them as everyone quickly gathers round to sing happy birthday. There’s some lackluster cheering as Liam blows the candles out and then a rush for the microwave as everyone grabs a couple of the cold slices. Twelve takes one of the boxes for himself, not really caring that it’s cold, and settles back in on the couch watching the jostling and shoving and hip-checking and squabbling going on in the kitchen with lazy amusement as he makes his way through his own box.

Once everyone’s had their turn at the microwave Liam puts on SpaceMonsters 3000, which receives considerably louder cheers than the wish-making and candle-blowing had and they all settle in for two hours of movie-quoting and yelling futilely at the screen.

*

Friday rolls around and Liam and Twelve are getting ready for their weekly night in, setting up drinks and bowls full of snacks that Liam just bought when a text comes through in the group chat with all of them, Liam’s phone and the iPad chiming at the same time.

It’s from Louis and all it says is “come outside.”

Twelve looks at Liam but Liam just shrugs, grabbing for his keys.

Parked a few feet down the block from the lobby entrance is Louis and when he sees them come out, he hangs half out his open window and calls, “Get in losers, we’re going out on the town!”

Harry is sat in the passenger seat and when they’re close enough for him to see their bewildered faces he laughs.

Liam sputters, “What—we—Louis—”

“Nope. No excuses. It may technically be September now and no longer your birth month anymore but tonight we’re celebrating like it’s nineteen fucking ninety-nine because I refuse to call what happened on Tuesday a proper birthday celebration. Now come on, get your arses in here, Niall and Sarah are already waiting for us at the pub.”

Liam shakes his head but he crowds into the backseat of Louis’ car and Twelve follows, unsure of what to expect for the night ahead but knowing that with Louis involved it’s definitely bound to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This was my inspiration for the watch btw](https://www.johnlewis.com/sekonda-1187-00-men's-date-bracelet-strap-watch-gunmetal/p3013601) except, you know, in the fic it’s actually Armani and not Sekonda or whatever (and therefore a bit more expensive and more fancy looking)…
> 
> As always, comments and kudos feed my soul and are much appreciated! Love you all and hope you're enjoying your Christmas, if you celebrate, or just enjoying the holidays/winter season! :) <3


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year y'all!!! :D  
> Suuuper late but in my defense I got knocked down by a whopper of a bacterial infection for like the last two and a half weeks and of course whined about it a bit it on tumblr but I'm back now cautiously peeping my head out with a new chapter lollll hope you all enjoy and that the new year is treating you well (or at least better than it did me so far lmao)

_Liam_

Liam wakes up with a raging headache, mouth dry and muscles stiff.

He’d maybe overdone it a little too much last night. Or a lot if the pounding between his ears is anything to go by, the paracetamol he took before he collapsed into bed last night apparently having done much of nothing.

They’d gone to four different pubs—including their usual—and two clubs last night and he’d had at least a couple of drinks if not more at each one, which in retrospect was not a good idea but he hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly after the first few. Had let Louis’ poor judgment and urging to “let loose for once” and “live a little” goad him on. Which was how he all of people had ended up being the one tasked with distracting the bouncer at the second club—unfortunately not as lenient as the first about not checking ID’s—while the others snuck Twelve in. Even though they hadn’t actually been hurting anyone or doing anything illegal seeing as Twelve is technically of age, he still feels mildly guilty about it now as he rolls over and blinks open gritty eyes, only realizing what woke him when he looks up a moment later.

“Sorry,” Twelve says softly as he places a tall glass full of water on the nightstand. “Didn’t mean to wake you, but I forgot about the creak in the floor on this side.”

“S’alright,” Liam mumbles, sitting up gingerly and reaching for the water. “Did you have fun last night?”

Twelve smiles. “Yeah, it was fun watching all the terrible dancing. Pretty sure you and Sarah are the only decent dancers of the group.”

“You could’ve joined us, you know. Would’ve saved you from getting hounded by all the creeps at the bar,” he says, proud of himself for managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice and keep things light-hearted.

“Nah, dancing’s never really been my thing anyway, has it? Plus I managed to get a ton of free drinks out of it so that kind of made up for it in the end I think.”

Liam huffs a laugh, finishing up his water before sliding out of bed. “Well, thanks for the water. I’m gonna go shower…here’s hoping I feel a little less like death after.”

“Can’t relate,” Twelve says with a smirk.

“Ouch, kicking a man when he’s down? Too bad Louis’ not here to see, he’d be proud.”

Twelve laughs, throwing a stray sock from the pile of Liam’s clothes he’d shucked off in a rush after they got back last night in Liam’s direction. “Anyway, I made waffles if you feel up to eating. But don’t take too long or I might just eat them all before you get any.”

“Menace,” Liam mutters with a fond smile throwing the sock back at him, which Twelve easily dodges with another laugh before heading back out into the kitchen. He’s been better lately, much better after his brief stint of sleepless nights a little while back that had had Liam worried, and it’s really nice to see him laughing and smiling and joking again. To know he’s actually sleeping through the night and not being constantly wracked my nightmares, at least for now, even if Liam knows it probably won’t last. But it’s something at least, to know that Twelve can have these moments, these pockets of happiness and joy in the midst of everything else.

*

“Where’s Twelve?” Harry says when Liam lets them in later that day for the apparent continued birthday weekend shenanigans and Harry looks around to find it’s only Liam.

“Nice to see you too, Haz. Twelve's gone to meet with Danny. His Danny. Nice Danny. He should be back in a bit. Sarah?” he directs at Niall as they sit.

“Working. But—”

“Nice Danny?” Louis repeats, confused.

“Yeah,” Niall adds, looking equally confused.

“Handler D,” Liam explains. “The one that was his Handler for most of the time he was in the bunker. That’s his real name. Ironically.”

Niall raises his eyebrows, as does Louis.

“And that's ' _nice_ Danny'? One of his _Handlers_?” Louis says, sounding a bit indignant.

Liam shakes his head quickly. “No, it's—it’s not like that, _he’s_ not like that.”

“He's different from the others,” Harry cuts in. “Twelve’s told me about him, not much, but enough. He was one of the good ones.”

“Yeah, he's really nice,” Liam tacks on. “Hence the name. It's sort of something we've started calling him. You know, so we don't get them mixed up. Twelve’s Danny and my Danny. He’s been helping Twelve…cope with all this. I think it’s why he’s been doing so much better lately. You know, having someone to talk to who’s been through some of the same things and that.”

“Hang on, _we_? Twelve knows about _your_ Danny?”

Liam squirms a little in his spot on the couch. “Well, yeah, we sort of...ran into him at Tesco's a few weeks back. Twelve was ace though,” he adds hurriedly, “did that creepy stare to thing to get him to back off. Scared the shit out of Danny, I reckon. It was pretty funny to watch actually.”

“Wait, so, Danny actually saw the two of you together? You and Twelve?”

“I mean, yeah…”

Louis makes a face. “Christ, was he an arse about it? Cause he definitely seemed like the type to be an arse about it. He was, wasn’t he?”

“I—what?”

“What what? He wasn’t?” Louis says, sounding genuinely surprised.

“I mean, yeah, he was but…I just don’t get why you thought he would be…I mean, you all said you _liked_ him. You, Haz, and Niall all said you thought he was nice when you met him.”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah, well, we lied. To be honest, we’ve never really liked anyone you dated. Not to be rude, mate, but you kind of tend to date arseholes. I don’t know if it’s some sort of secret inferiority complex or what but you don’t have the greatest track record when it comes to healthy relationships.”

“Wha _—Inferiority complex_? I do _not_ have any kind of inferiority complex, _Jesus_ …is that…is this how you all really feel? You all think everyone I’ve ever dated was an arsehole?”

Niall shrugs and Harry looks away.

“Basically,” Louis says.

“I mean, there was that one bloke who wasn’t so bad…the one that was an athlete or whatever, from our last year of uni?” Niall says. “And that one girl from back when you were still trying to date girls, they weren’t so bad. Or…not as bad as the rest of them anyway.”

Harry and Louis both nod in agreement and Liam just blinks at them all, completely flabbergasted.

Louis, when he sees the look on Liam’s face though, just rolls his eyes. “I mean, honestly, Liam, you didn’t think it was weird that Danny basically preyed on you when you were at your most vulnerable?”

“He— _what_? What are you even on about? ‘Preyed’ on me?”

“Mate, he asked you out right after the bank thing when your face was still all fucked up, probably after watching all your co-workers treat you like shit for the better part of the day or however long he was there. The arsehole knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Probably looks for people he thinks will be easy to take advantage of. It was obvious he was never really in it for anything other than himself. Even the few times we hung out with him it was pretty clear he liked the attention you gave him more than he liked _you_.”

“I—wh—you—” Liam cuts himself off, shakes his head, trying his best to clear it and get his thoughts together before he looks back up at them all. “This is…this is what all of you really think?”

More nods.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“Maybe because the few times we’ve tried to tell you what we really think of the guys you date you’ve gotten all defensive and acted like _we’re_ the dicks for being too judgmental and not giving them a chance,” Harry says, shrugging and running a hand through his hair. “Kind of started to feel like beating a dead horse after the first few times so we all just kind of let it go and hoped eventually you’d start dating better guys. Not to go all armchair psychiatrist on you but you kind of have a penchant for unconsciously punishing yourself.”

Harry looks at Liam pointedly, glancing from the sketch Twelve gave him for his birthday—which has been temporarily posted up on the fridge with a magnet until he can get a proper frame for it—back to him quickly. Liam wonders if he’s trying to imply something about his dating history being connected to residual guilt over Twelve, but that’s ridiculous. It’s not like it’s Liam’s fault that he got taken. Liam wasn’t even _there_ when it happened. And anyway how would the—apparently terrible—personalities of the people he’s chosen to date be even remotely related to whatever Harry thinks Liam’s supposedly been punishing himself for all these years? He shrugs it off. He’s probably just overanalyzing Harry’s words.

“Well, maybe I should let you lot choose my next boyfriend then since you all clearly know so much better than me,” Liam says a bit sulkily, voiced laced with sarcasm.

Louis smirks. “Yeah, I’ve got someone in mind.” He looks at Niall conspiratorially then and they both snicker. Harry’s hiding his own smirk behind his hand now too and Liam rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to know and he doesn’t care. Mystery guy can stay a mystery for all that he’s concerned, though knowing Louis he won’t. But that’s a problem for another time.

*

He and Twelve are sat on the couch watching a random Bollywood film together a few days later, Twelve translating all the parts where the subtitles didn’t get it quite right, laughing at the others, warm mugs of tea cupped in both their hands, and a huge container of chocolate chip biscuits Liam’s mum brought over for his birthday weekend between them, and it feels so much like old times. Like memories long past. Memories that Liam had so rarely let himself think about before Twelve showed up because it hurt too much, left him with an ache in his chest that he’d tried so hard to bury for so long. And even after, after he found his way back to Liam, Liam had still been too afraid to let himself hope, to let himself think that it could ever be like this again. But sitting here like this, Twelve’s laughter in his ear, Bollywood music flowing from the telly, munching on homemade biscuits and tea, it feels…surreal. Like a dream he never thought would come true, but here they are.

He can’t help but think that’s in part thanks to Handler D, Twelve being so happy and relaxed lately, like part of the weight he’s been carrying around for so long has suddenly been lifted. He’s more himself than ever these days Liam thinks, though he still says he doesn’t quite feel like it. “It’s like there’s three of me,” he’d said late one night during that string of days he’d spent barely sleeping back in August. Before he’d gone to see Handler D—or Danny rather. _His_ Danny. Nice Danny—Liam’s still getting used to that. They talk almost everyday now and Liam’s not entirely sure what about, but whatever it is, it seems to have helped because Twelve’s seemed so much more relaxed, so much more _balanced_ ever since. And Twelve hadn’t told Liam much more than that that night but Liam thinks he understands. Why he feels that way about himself, why it’d maybe be easier to talk about it with someone who was there, someone who understands, even if it’s only in part, what he’s going through.

Liam’s not that person, he knows that, and he’s trying to be okay with that because things have been so good with them lately and he doesn’t want to be the one to mess that up just because he’s feeling insecure or whatever, even if it isn’t always easy trying to hide the way he feels. But what’s important is that Twelve is good, and he won’t, he _refuses_ to let his own stupid feelings get in the way of that.

“Okay?” Liam says when the credits are rolling and Twelve has gone quiet, seems to be staring off into space a bit.

Twelve turns to him, eyebrows raised in surprise a moment before the question seems to register and he nods, small smile teasing at his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about how nice this is.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Liam says smiling now too.

By the time he’s refilled their tea cups a new film is starting and they’re settling back in, Liam sitting maybe a little closer to Twelve than he should be or than is strictly appropriate. But just this once he thinks maybe it’s okay for him to make a small exception just to have this moment, to indulge just a little, and Twelve thankfully doesn’t seem to mind.

*

Louis raises an eyebrow at them when he comes in, Niall, Sarah, and Harry trailing in behind him.

“What’s this then?”

Liam tries hard to keep a straight face, him and Twelve standing at attention in the middle of the kitchen having attempted to pull themselves together enough to try to look somewhat casual and presentable when the door opened. Liam hadn’t even heard them knock over the sound of his and Twelve’s laughter and the music blaring from the new speakers Ruth got him for this birthday and he guesses Twelve hadn’t either, too caught up in their little impromptu food fight. But evidently they must have because they rarely use the emergency key these days unless it’s an actual emergency.

Liam has brownie batter all over the side of his face and the back of his neck and probably in his hair while Twelve is miraculously completely clean but for his fingers and a small spot on his sock. But when Liam glances over at him he can tell he’s trying hard to hold back his own laughter too and after another moment of awkward silence wherein the other four just stand there staring at them in confusion neither he nor Twelve can stand it anymore as they both burst into uncontrollable giggles.

Liam feels a bit like a naughty schoolchild as he stutters out an explanation between barely contained laughter, the other four just staring at them in mild surprise before Niall finally snorts out a laugh.

“I guess Twelve won,” Louis says with a smirk, looking Liam up and down. “Are there any actual brownies left or is it all in your hair?”

As if on cue the oven dings then and even though he can’t help smiling Liam mutters a quick “shut up” before spinning around to get them out.

Later, when they’re all spread out around the living room having gorged themselves on brownies and popcorn and crisps and beer Liam looks around the room and says, “Alright, who’s helping with clean up? Cause my kitchen looks like I just lost a game of jumanji.”

Twelve bursts into laughter—apparently the only one who finds the joke even remotely funny—which makes Harry laugh which makes Niall laugh which makes Sarah laugh.

“I understood that reference,” Twelve says proudly, grinning at Liam who grins right back.

Louis though just looks at them all, eyebrow raised like _really_ , and says with the least amount of enthusiasm in his voice, “Get better jokes, Liam. Also, clean up your own damn mess, you were the one who decided to have a full on Brownie War with a fucking supersoldier assassin. How you ever thought that would go in your favor is beyond me, even _I_ could have predicted the mess would end up everywhere _but_ him.”

Liam flips him off on his way to the kitchen but Twelve jumps up to follow him.

“It’s okay, I’ll help. It _is_ partly my fault anyway,” he says.

Liam shakes his head. “It’s fine, you don’t have to. You can finish the film with the others if you like.”

“I want to. Besides if I hadn’t been so good at dodging you most of this probably wouldn’t be here anyway, and I did kind of start the Brownie War in the first place so.” He shrugs. “It’s only fair.”

“Well, in that case…think fast,” Liam says in a rush, aiming a damp flannel at Twelve’s face.

He catches it, predictably, before it reaches its desired destination but laughs anyway. “Nice try. Never would’ve worked, but C+ for effort.”

“ _C_?” Liam says in mock outrage.

Twelve shrugs, smirks. “Your aim was slightly off, your shoulder was too low and you threw more with your bicep than your wrist which doesn’t work as well at short range. If your intention was to hit the very edge of my cheekbone then you were right on the mark, A+ for that. But I’m pretty sure that wasn’t actually what you were going for so.”

“Arsehole,” Liam says going to whip Twelve in the side with his own wet flannel, which Twelve also artfully dodges with a laugh. “Not fair.”

Twelve sticks his tongue out. “All’s fair in love and war,” he says with another smirk, whipping at Liam with the flannel he caught, which Liam is unfortunately too slow to dodge, much less even _see_. He feels it more than sees it but before he can even make a move to reciprocate Twelve’s dashed around behind him and caught him twice more on his other side and is laughing as Liam whips his head back and forth struggling to even keep up with where he is.

“Oi! Cheater!” Liam calls with a laugh of his own, flailing his arm with the flannel out in the hopes that he’ll manage to get Twelve back even if it’s just by accident.

“I’m hearing a lot of giggling and not a lot of actual cleaning going on back there,” Louis admonishes from his spot in the recliner.

“Piss off,” Twelve says, a stray piece of popcorn landing in Louis’ hair from all the way across the room.

Louis squawks, tossing it back in their direction and undershooting his mark tremendously.

“And you think _my_ aim’s bad,” Liam jokes with a shake of his head.

“You’re still a C, but that was definitely an F.”

“I _heard_ that,” Louis cuts in, eyes narrowed. “Keep talking shit all you want, soldier boy, but I’d whip your arse at a game of footie any day.”

“Challenge accepted.”

“Oh god,” Harry chimes in, hands over his face.

Niall and Sarah are just watching the whole exchange with rapt attention stuffing popcorn in their mouths, film forgotten behind them.

“No help from the peanut gallery, I take it?” Liam says, turning to them a little desperately.

“Sorry, mate, but this is way better than that dumb film we were watching,” Niall says with a shrug.

*

“So," Harry says in an overly innocent tone that has Liam instantly on edge. "What's going on with you and Twelve, then?"

"What do you mean?" Liam says, already feeling exasperated with this conversation even though it’s only just begun. Twelve is thankfully out meeting up with Nice Danny again and not here to overhear whatever nonsense Harry is very clearly about to try and stir up and Liam very pointedly does not look up at Harry as he speaks, keeps his eyes trained resolutely on a spot on the stove that for whatever reason just refuses to get clean no matter how hard he scrubs.

"I mean," Harry says slowly, "what's going on with you and Twelve?"

"Nothing?” Liam says, glancing up at him briefly with a confused squint at the repetitiveness of his question before going back to scrubbing at the stove. “We’re good. _He's_ good."

"Yeah, I know he's good," Harry says like he thinks Liam’s being dumb. "Very good. Especially lately. He’s also head over heels for you and you two’ve been acting pretty chummy lately.”

Liam stops what he’s doing completely to stare at Harry incredulously. Assumes he’s just taking the piss—though it’s an admittedly shitty joke at that—and waits for the inevitable burst of laughter before he properly takes in Harry’s face, his mouth set in a firm line, solemn eyes boring into Liam’s own, realizes he’s serious and sputters confusedly.

“ _What_ —what are you— _what_?” Liam shakes his head quickly in confusion as if he can somehow shake off Harry’s words.

Harry squints back at him a moment as if he’s not sure Liam’s serious either and then throws his hands up, looks up at the ceiling, and says, “Oh my God, you’re both idiots. You’re seriously going to stand there and try and tell me you had _no_ idea?”

Liam opens his mouth to answer, or to protest, he’s honestly not sure which because this is ridiculous and he has no idea where it’s coming from, but Harry must see something in his face to that effect because he doesn’t even let Liam get a word out before rounding on him.

“ _Christ_ , Liam, _seriously_? How can you not see that he’s completely gone for you? It’s _ridiculously_ _stupidly_ obvious, even enough for _you_ to see it. He laughs the hardest at all your dumb jokes, he practically lights up whenever you get anywhere within five feet of him, he finds ways to mention you literally _all the time_ even when it has nothing to do with you—we were trying to figure out where to park at the shopping centre the other week and there was literally no reason to bring you up but he did. He’s got a notebook full of pictures of just you—”

“That doesn’t mean he has feelings for me, that’s just him being normal and I’m the one who’s around him the most, of course he probably has more pictures of me, there’s plenty of you guys too and I don’t see you saying he’s in love with any of _you_.”

Harry holds up a finger. “Not finished. He was practically salivating over your arms the first time we got him drunk and couldn’t stop saying your name over and over. He made a joke that if you’re like Ross, then he’s Rachel—”

“That wasn’t—” He’s about to explain how he’s pretty sure that wasn’t what Twelve meant seeing as how Rachel also had to learn how to function on her own as an adult out in the real world after basically living in a bubble most of her life a lot like Twelve had, but Harry keeps going as if he hasn’t even spoken.

“He used to cry every time you left for work, even though he made me promise not to tell you but I’m breaking that promise now only because it’s for his own good since clearly you’re both huge freaking idiots. You were the one that told me that _he_ told you he remembered _kissing you_ , which if that’s not a huge red flag I don’t know what is because he didn’t even have to bring it up if it was just a run-of-the-mill memory like any of the others but he did. By your account of things he acted pretty much like what amounts to a jealous boyfriend when you ran into _your_ Danny at Tesco’s. You’re the only one out of all of us he doesn’t look at like he’s about to murder when we tease him about the mixing up words thing. He chose to stay _here_ with you over going home with his family. For Christ’s sake, he crushed a freaking tea mug to pieces because you came out of the bathroom shirtless—”

“ _What_? Is that what he told you?”

“He’s _always_ on edge when you’re gone, like a worried boyfriend. Pretty much every time I’ve still been here when you get home it’s like he visibly relaxes the second you walk in the door. _And_ he’s _always_ staring at you—”

“He stares at everyone!”

“Not like that he doesn’t.”

“I—”

“Nope. Whatever you’re about to say don’t because it’s probably irrelevant. Make all the half-arsed arguments you want Liam, it still doesn’t change the facts. I don’t know what it is with the two of you why you’re both so hell-bent on torturing yourselves and coming up with excuses to justify it. For whatever reason you both just refuse to see things any other way than the fucked up way you see it in your head, no matter how much the truth differs from that and it’s honestly ridiculous. It’s like you both think you don’t deserve to be loved and I get it with Twelve. I do. Even though he’s wrong too, although that’s a conversation for another time. But with you…I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s because you somehow still blame yourself for what happened when you were kids, for not being there or something when he was taken. Or if the kids from your school just messed you up that badly, or if you just don’t know how to accept love from anyone else after having it ripped away when you were so young. Or all of the above. But whatever it is you need to work through it and get your shit together before you both drive each other and everyone else around you mad with all your unresolved feelings because honestly it was cute at first but now it’s just getting to be exhausting watching you two pine and lust and dance around each other like a couple of lovesick idiots. Whether you’re willing to admit it to yourself or not, you’re in love with him and he’s in love with you and you’re only making yourselves more miserable by drawing it all out and pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

*

Liam doesn’t know what to make of anything anymore after his talk, or rather lecture, with Harry. He tries hard to make sense of everything Harry had said and what he himself knows but he just still can’t seem to wrap his mind around it. Sure Twelve draws him and stares at him sometimes, but he could say the same of just about any one of them. And the family thing…Liam’s pretty sure that the main reason Twelve reacted the way he did can just be chalked up to the fact that this is the place he feels most comfortable and secure and familiar with after having spent so much of his recovery here. If he went back with his family he’d be in a completely new place, a completely new house in a new environment with a whole new routine to get used to. That’d be a lot for anyone, but especially someone in recovery. And as far as the mug thing…Liam honestly doesn’t know what to make of that, if that’s really how Twelve told it or if Harry’s just exaggerating like he tends to do sometimes, blowing things out of proportion. And honestly it’s possible that’s what all of this is, where all of this is coming from. Just Harry being Harry and seeing something where there’s nothing, misinterpreting what Twelve’s said and done.

But it _is_ a lot, all the things Harry mentioned, and everything can’t necessarily be explained away as just a joke or a misunderstanding. And especially when put all together, it does look…well, like how Harry says it looks.

He thinks about all the times he’s caught Twelve looking at him, drawing him. All the jokes Louis’ made hinting not just at his own feelings for Twelve but vice versa, all the sneaky looks between Louis and Niall and Sarah and Harry and wonders if he really is that dense. If this is something all of them have seen that he’s just been too slow, or resistant even, to pick up on, so stuck on his own view of things.

It seems ridiculous to think he could’ve willingly dismissed so much, especially when it feels like this is practically all he’s wanted almost the entire time Twelve’s been here. But now that the possibility is actually on the table it feels almost too good to be true.

What if whatever it is Twelve might be feeling is only because he hasn’t had a chance to really be out in the world, get to know other people outside of their small circle?

Or what if Harry’s wrong and he lets himself hope only to get his heart broken?

Liam doesn’t even know for sure if Twelve likes guys, for Christ’s sake. Sure, they’d kissed the one time but they’d been kids and it hadn’t really meant anything, or at least it didn’t seem like it had to Zayn _then_. And as it stands now Twelve’s never done anything that Liam can recall to indicate he has any interest in guys in general. Though Liam supposes he could say the same for women. But then again maybe he doesn’t feel that kind of attraction to _anyone_. Maybe he never did and the kiss was more experimentation than anything. Or maybe he had but they trained it out of him so thoroughly that he just doesn’t feel anything for anyone anymore. Maybe whatever it is Harry or the others _think_ they’re seeing is just Twelve being Twelve. Trying his best to approximate their friendship like how it used to be and overdoing it a little so it comes off to everyone else like something more.

Or maybe Liam’s just overanalyzing everything to keep himself from facing the truth and possibly having a panic attack.

“Are you sure?” he says into the phone three days after Harry’s lecture, voice low and shaky as he huddles on the living room couch in the dark.

“What?” Harry says sounding groggy and disoriented, voice thick with sleep. “Liam, it’s two in the fucking morning. You have work in like five hours, go to sleep.”

“Six. But, Haz…are you _sure_?”

“Sure that you’re mad and interrupting my sleep? _Yes_.”

“ _Haz_.”

“ _Liam_ ,” Harry repeats just to be irritating. “Look, I don’t even know what you’re talking about, mate, okay? So just—”

“ _Twelve_. Are you sure about…what you said about…about Twelve?”

There’s a deep sigh on the other end of the line and then, “Yes, I’m sure. I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t sure, especially because I thought you already _knew_. Or at least, I don’t know, _suspected_. I figured you were just taking so long to confront him about it because you were too nervous or whatever. But then when I noticed how you two’ve been acting the last few weeks I figured maybe something had happened, or you’d, like, talked it out or something although evidently not.”

“But how do you even know he likes guys?”

“I don’t. Not sure I can say I’ve ever seen him show any interest in any other guys to be honest, or anyone else of any gender for that matter, but I know he’s definitely shown interest in _you_. Whether that makes him gay, bi, pan, or just Liamsexual, who knows? But I know what I’ve seen.”

“But haven’t you ever thought…maybe you’re just reading into things? Like…like maybe it’s all just a big misunderstanding?”

“Trust me, it’s not.”

“But what if like…maybe he’s just…I don’t know, latched onto me because he hasn’t really had a chance to be around anyone else besides you lot?”

Harry lets out another weary sigh. “This isn’t just circumstance, Liam. I can’t convince you if you don’t want to be convinced but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s the same way you look at _him_. And if you remember anything about that talk we had all those months back you know what I mean. This isn’t something new. I don’t know what else I can say to make you believe it, but…everything from here on out is up to you. The door’s open, all you have to do is walk through it.”

*

Two days later and Liam still can’t sleep. He lays there, mind restless and uneasy, body fidgety. Tosses and turns, gently of course, trying his best not to disturb Twelve. Flips onto his back, then his side, then his stomach, then his other side, then his back again. Stares up at the ceiling. Tries to quiet his mind, but he can’t. He can’t stop replaying Harry’s words in his head on repeat.

_The door’s open, all you have to do is walk through it._

It’s sounds so simple, so easy, but what if it all goes wrong?

What if _they’re_ wrong? About all of this?

What if he says something and fucks it all up? Makes Twelve feel uncomfortable, or worse, betrayed? For being just like all the others, for being just another person who wants something from him he’s got no obligation to give?

What if by making this known, putting this out in the open, he ruins everything they’ve built?

Liam doesn’t know if he could take that, knowing that _he’d_ be the reason everything came crashing down, that he’d be the reason Twelve might spiral, or even leave.

“Liam?” Twelve says out of the blue in a sleep-thick voice, rolling over to face him.

“Yeah?”

“Stop thinking. You’re waking me up.”

“Oh. S-sorry, I, um…”

“S’alright, just…can literally feel your body heat from your brain working overtime and it’s making me hot. Just go to sleep, yeah? Whatever it is it’ll still be there for you to worry about in the morning.”

Liam swallows. “Right. Yeah.”

After a moment Liam turns back over, takes a deep breath and tries to quiet his mind again waiting for sleep to come, even though he knows it probably won’t.

*

Okay. Okay. He can do this. It’s just like ripping off a plaster.

He’s probably freaking out over nothing. Harry could be right. He’s probably right. And if everyone else sees it too then it can’t just be nothing, right? All that stuff Harry said about Twelve can’t just be nothing. Right?

He just has to do it. That’s all. Just do it.

If he’s wrong, he’s wrong. And he’ll probably feel like shit for obvious reasons, but if he’s right. If there’s any chance— _no_. Nope. No way. He’s not gonna let himself get caught up in all the possibilities or else he’ll never go through with it. He just has to do it. Just do it, just get it over with and then don’t think about it anymore, be done with it. That’s all.

Simple.

In theory anyway.

Just get it out. And let the universe take its course.

Simple.

Besides if he doesn’t do this now he’ll have to wait and psych himself up again and he honestly doesn’t know if he can.

He’s already got a pen and paper out, sat at the kitchen counter alone while Twelve is out at Danny’s and he’s already waited too long. Already drawn this out way longer than he should’ve. He’s got maybe another twenty minutes at the most before Twelve is due back and he’s already spent the last hour or so trying to amp himself up. He can’t keep putting this off. He just has to put pen to paper and get it out there, get it over with. Because if he’s gonna do this, he’s gonna do it in a way Twelve remembers.

*

**Day 1**

Liam leaves the note where he knows Twelve will see it. Places it carefully in the middle of the counter, stares, takes a breath and then walks away.

He waits until he passes the park for the second time on his afternoon jog before he checks his watch. Twelve will more than likely be back by now. Will have seen it, will have answered. Hopefully.

By the time he gets back everything will be different.

Whether that’s different bad or different good he has no idea. But he won’t let himself think about it until he knows. He can’t. Not yet.

Except that when he gets back the note is gone and so is Twelve.

**Day 2**

Still no answer.

Twelve had come back late the previous night, fallen into bed beside him without so much as a word. Liam has no idea where he went, doesn’t ask, but there’s a tense silence surrounding them the whole day.

Liam can hardly even bring himself to look at Twelve much less talk to him and he doesn’t know what to make of any of this. He can’t tell if this is one of those things where Twelve just needs time or if he’s fucked it all up and he’s too afraid to ask for fear of the answer.

**Day 3**

Liam is on edge. Still not a word about the note and okay maybe he just needs to give it more time since he did kind of spring things on Twelve a bit suddenly but the silence is agonizing. It’s like they’re both walking on eggshells around each other and he’s pretty sure neither of them has slept more than a couple hours combined either in the past three days.

He can’t even focus on work, which isn’t exactly doing him any favors with his temperamental co-workers. He feels like he’s going through the days on autopilot, running and rerunning things in his mind, all the different scenarios, different possibilities. He promised himself he wouldn’t think about it until he knew for sure how things would turn out, but it’s been three days and he can’t help it. He’s spiraling. Or starting to anyway.

What if Twelve’s just trying to find a nice way to let him down gently? What if he hasn’t answered because Liam’s made him uncomfortable and he’s too afraid to say it? What if he’s afraid of Liam because he thinks Liam will try to force him to do something he doesn’t want to? There’s so many what-ifs and he doesn’t know where to stop. Can’t seem to make himself stop.

God, he’s fucked it all up. He knows it. He never should have written that note. He never should have done _anything_.

**Day 4**

Liam doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. This tense silence. This not knowing. Especially the not knowing. He thinks it’s that part that’s killing him the most. The uncertainty.

Maybe he’s panicking over nothing. Maybe Twelve really does just need time and he’s freaking out, driving himself sick with worry, for no reason.

This was never going to be as simple as Harry made it seem, he knew that, despite how much Harry had tried to convince him otherwise, how much he’d tried to convince _himself_ otherwise. Nothing about Twelve has ever been simple, not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, just…maybe not as easy to cope with when it comes to keeping himself from having a full on anxiety attack but.

Patience. He just has to have more patience. Twelve _has_ to say something eventually, right? Even if it’s not a good something, at least Liam will know. Twelve can’t keep this silence up forever. Right? _Right_?

**Day 5**

Liam feels like he’s going mad. Maybe he already is mad. Maybe Twelve won’t ever answer and he won’t ever be able to stop himself from wondering about all the what-if’s and he won’t ever be able to muster up the courage to ask because he’d probably screw that up too because he can’t fucking do _anything_ right.

He’s made everything worse. He’s made everything _so_ much worse because apparently he doesn’t know how to do _anything_ without making it worse, fucking it up beyond repair, and he can’t take it back now. He can’t ever take it back because this isn’t something you can just gloss over and go ‘Oh, hey, remember that note I gave you? Yeah, that was just a joke, I was just having a laugh, let’s just forget all about it, yeah?’

He’s fucked. _They’re_ fucked. And it’s all his fault and there’s nothing he can do about it. Nothing he can say or do now that will make this all go away like he so desperately wants it to. He wishes he could go back in time and rip that note to shreds. Or better yet stop himself from even writing it in the first place. He wishes he could hit rewind and just take it all back because he doesn’t know how he’s going to stomach yet another day of going home to face Twelve like this. Face that agonizing fucking silence. He doesn’t know if he can do it. Stays later than he probably ever has at work because he can’t bring himself to do it. Sends a silent prayer up to whoever might be listening that Twelve be asleep when he gets home so that he doesn’t have to do it.

Except. Except maybe he won’t have to.

Because when he gets home the kitchen light is on. And on the counter is the mug, the cracked mug.

And taped to the side is the note. _His_ note.

And as he opens it he lets himself have just the tiniest sliver of hope that maybe, _just maybe_ , he did something right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did anyone happen to catch the captain america/avengers reference I slipped in there lol?
> 
> also rip liam at the end of this chapter…he’s like mmmm watcha sayyyyy and twelve’s just #crickets lmao but they will get it together very soon promise. (unofficial theme song for this chapter: watcha say by jason derulo lol and it doesn’t count if you didn’t sing his name in your head jason derulo-style when you read it)
> 
> btw if you haven’t already seen it you guys should also check out [ziamflower’s really cool fan art for twelve](https://ziamflowers.tumblr.com/post/169525266757/yaz-the-spaz-i-was-reading-your-fanfic-the-other) and go like it and reblog it cause she’s amazing and her art’s amazing and she deserves all the love and support and nice things so go do it :)


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, your Friday update! :)  
> FYI it’s a long one (almost 40 pages) so plan your time appropriately…

_Zayn_

**Day 1**

Liam’s gone out for a run by the time Twelve gets back from Danny’s, has left a little yellow sticky note on the edge of the island counter saying as much, but that’s not what catches Twelve’s attention. What catches his attention is the mug, the cracked one, sitting in the middle of the counter as if on display.

His first thought is that something’s wrong with it. Maybe it’s started to leak and Liam’s left it out to fix later or maybe just to throw away. Maybe he’s decided it’s no good and he doesn’t want it anymore. But then Twelve sees the folded up piece of paper taped to the side.

He doesn’t know what to think at first. It’s weirdly reminiscent of the folded up drawing he’d taped to the inside of the watch box for Liam’s birthday. But Liam doesn’t draw, outside of the odd stick-figure doodle here and there, and obviously it isn’t _Twelve’s_ birthday.

He pulls the mug slowly towards him, runs his fingers over the cracks and looks inside. It’s empty, nothing but the piece of paper taped to the outside and he pulls it off, sits in his usual seat at the counter and unfolds it slowly, nervous at what he might find inside.

It’s Liam’s handwriting. His long, flowy scrawl is easily recognizable and Twelve follows it across the page, feeling like his heart is pounding so loud it could beat right out of his chest. He doesn’t know when he stopped breathing or when the silence in the room got so deafening but he forces himself to take a breath, swallows. Rereads and rereads and rereads, trying to fight his way past his disbelief. At the words on the page. At what they say. At what they _mean_.

_Twelve,_

_I like you._

_Do you like me?_

_Check_ ☐ _yes or_ ☐ _no_

_– Liam_

It feels surreal, seeing those words on the page sitting there staring up at him like they’re not simultaneously the most meaningful and most ludicrous words ever written to him, _for_ him. So ridiculous he wants to laugh but shock and anxiousness keep him from making a sound.

Liam. Liam… _likes_ him? Liam likes _him_? Him with his mood swings and nightmares and tantrums and shitty memory and his fucked-up…everything?

It makes no sense but at the same time maybe makes _too_ _much_ sense, all the puzzle pieces of all the moments he’s been trying to fit together in his head and make sense of all this time finally falling into place.

Christ, but it’s _suffocating_. He needs air. Feels like he can’t breathe with the weight of this one single question and all that it means crushing down on him. Dashes down the corridor and then the stairs, through the lobby and out the doors, leaning heavily against the brick as he gasps for air. Presses his fingertips into the folded up piece of paper in his fist to remind himself that this is real. This isn’t a dream or something his fucked up mind cooked up to toy with him.

He’s here, outside of those four walls of Liam’s flat where everything sometimes feel a little unreal, a little too much like a dream. He’s here outside, out in the real world, and this is still real. The smooth paper underneath his fingertips is still real. The words on the page are still real. The question is still real.

And everything is up to him. It’s _all_ up to _him_.

**Day 2**

It’s too much. This weight, it’s _too much_.

Yesterday he’d walked and walked and walked, aimless. No destination in his head, no idea where he was going, what he was looking for or when he’d be back, just needing air and space and time to _think_ , to _breathe_. But even with all of that this weight is still too much.

This question, it changes everything. And it’s all up to him. But there are too many things in his head. Too many jumbled up memories, too many doubts, too many fears. Too many questions of his own.

How is he supposed to make this decision?

He can barely even choose which shirt to wear in the morning without Liam’s help and yet Liam trusts him with _this_. This huge, hulking, life-altering mountain of a decision. Is waiting on _him_ for an answer and Twelve can’t look at him because every time he does he’s reminded of the weight of this decision all over again.

**Day 3**

Twelve can’t do this. He can’t make this decision. It’s _too much_.

Liam deserves better. Deserves someone who doesn’t freak out over a simple question. Doesn’t take days to answer something that should've taken two seconds. He deserves someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing in life. Someone who isn’t so messed up or haunted by their past. Someone he doesn’t have to constantly take care of or watch over. Someone who isn’t weighed down by all their own baggage or even the simplest of questions. Someone who can actually take care of _him_ for a change. Someone who knows how to be an actual functional person in a functional relationship. None of that is Twelve.

How can he say yes knowing all of that, no matter how much he might want to?

How can he do that to Liam?

**Day 4**

Twelve doesn’t know what to do. Feels more torn than he ever has.

The thought of checking yes feels so selfish. Like he’d be ripping away Liam’s chance at something better, some _one_ better, for the sole sake of his own desire, his own happiness. If he checks yes he’d be taking that chance away. He doesn’t even know why Liam would want _him_ of all people, messed up as he is. Liam deserves better and he should get it and all Twelve wants is to see him happy.

But if he checks no, if he gives Liam that chance, he’d still be breaking his heart and he doesn’t know how he could live with that. Literally and figuratively. Because regardless of what he chooses to do he’ll still have to face Liam everyday and how could he sit here under the same roof as him, in the same bed, breathing the same air knowing that he broke Liam’s heart? That he made him wait for days for an answer, gave him that little bit of hope to cling onto that he might say yes, and then ripped it all away? How could he live with himself?

**Day 5**

Twelve stares at the note just like he has everyday for the last five days, needing to remind himself yet again that it’s real. Because no matter how many times he looks at it, reads over the words on the page, traces them with his fingers, it still doesn’t _feel_ real. He’s still struggling with the knowledge that Liam likes _him_ , wants _him_ and it’s still just as overwhelming as the first time he opened it. Maybe even more so now because of the knowledge of all the weight it carries, all the possibilities he’s gone back and forth over in his head for the last five days.

He doesn’t understand it, why Liam wants him, but he can’t be the one to break Liam’s heart. He can’t do that to him. He _won’t_. And it may be selfish, what he’s choosing to do, but even if it all goes wrong at least Liam will still have a shot at something good with someone else and Twelve thinks he could live with that. Knowing they gave it a try, that _he_ tried his best to make Liam happy even if it turns out he can’t. That’s all he really wants, all he’s ever really wanted, he thinks, even when they were kids. To see Liam happy.

If he can’t give Liam that then it’s just another thing he’ll have to live with, but at least he’ll know he tried.

And so the morning of the fifth day Twelve wakes up early. Reads and rereads and rereads the fateful words on the page over the soft whine of the shower running. Listens to Liam shuffling about in the kitchen once he’s dressed and started in on making breakfast. Grabs the pen he normally uses for his journals from the bedside table and checks the box he’s wanted to check from the very first moment he opened it. Folds it back and gets up from the bed, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself.

He takes the couple of steps past the bed, pulse overly loud in his ears, makes it to the inner edge of the doorway with only one more step to take to put him out into the living room where Liam will surely see him. And then he hears the flat door close.

Oh.

Liam wasn’t scheduled to go into work today. His boss left for a conference late last night. Called to let Liam know about the last minute schedule change and Twelve hadn’t been purposefully listening in but he’d overheard. Had assumed Liam was only up so early today because he couldn’t sleep or maybe wanted to take advantage of the time to run some errands. But his messenger bag and laptop are gone. The spot on the coffee table the laptop had previously been occupying and the rung by the door where his bag normally hangs both empty.

There’s no note saying when he’ll be home. No text update on the iPad, though Twelve waits for one. Waits all day. Waits until the sky is black and the flat is shrouded in darkness before he turns the kitchen light on, digs in the cupboard for the cracked mug, leaves it exactly the same way he found it and then crawls back under the covers in bed trying to stop himself from worrying that he’s ruined everything by taking so long to do what he should’ve done in the first place the moment he first saw it.

*

Twelve is still awake when Liam finally comes home, can’t sleep over the relentlessness of his racing thoughts. He hears the soft footsteps coming down the corridor outside, the scrape of metal against metal as Liam turns his key in the lock, and the soft swish of the door gliding over plush carpet, and then silence. Nothing but the sound of both their heartbeats echoing in Twelve’s ears, Liam’s fainter than his own but just as fast.

He’s seen it then. No going back now.

Twelve holds his breath, listens for Liam’s footsteps as he moves towards the kitchen counter. Slow, tentative, like he’s afraid of what he’ll find.

There’s the scrape of the mug as it slides across the counter. More silence. Faster heartbeats.

A deep intake of breath. Another pause. The soft rustle of the paper being opened and then.

A laugh.

A light, breathy, exhale of a laugh, like relief, like a sigh. But full of surprised joy even in that briefest of sounds and Twelve finally lets go of the breath he’s been holding. Throws the covers wildly off himself. Sits up in the dark and waits.

Liam is in the doorway in a matter of seconds, faint light from the kitchen filtering in behind him. Twelve sits anxiously atop the covers at the end of the bed, watches Liam step forward and come to sit in the space across from him, the folded up piece of paper clutched in his fingers. He slides it across to Twelve, waits, quiet.

Twelve picks it up with shaky hands, opens it and scans the page, the familiar words staring back up at him along with his own checkmark in the little box next to yes. But there’s something new below it, words that weren’t there before.

_I really want to kiss you._

_Do you want to kiss me?_

_Check_ ☐ _yes or_ ☐ _no_

_(p.s. please say yes)_

_(p.p.s. please don’t take another five days)_

Twelve stares at the words on the page, the new ones, swallows and then rereads them, heart pounding so loud it’s the only thing he can hear.

He can feel Liam’s eyes on him, watching, _waiting_ and he forces himself to look up and nods, slow and hesitant. Liam breaks into a smile so wide and bright it’s practically blinding, eyes crinkling up at the corners as he takes Twelve’s face in his hands and leans forward until they’re sharing the same air, looks into Twelve’s eyes and presses his mouth against Twelve’s own.

It’s just a press of lips at first. Just a press of lips that already leaves him lost for words, lost for air. But then Liam is taking Twelve’s lips between his own and it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever felt. Like fireworks. A million fireworks going off inside his head. Everything he’s ever wanted and never thought he could have. Everything he ever _could_ want. Like how he felt that day all those years ago the first time they did this, but so much more. So much more now. And Liam’s lips. Liam’s lips are so…so warm and soft and _Liam_. And Twelve doesn’t ever want this to end.

But before he knows it Liam is pulling away, putting space between the two of them and Twelve follows his lead, takes a much needed breath and looks down at where their knees are nearly touching.

“Sorry if that was, um, like…not very good. I’ve only ever done it the one time, obviously, so…”

Liam shakes his head, and when Twelve looks up at him again he’s grinning from ear to ear. “It was perfect. _You’re_ perfect.”

Twelve looks at him, eyes wide, unsure, feeling like this can’t really be happening, like this can’t really be _real_. But Liam is solid in front of him, heart racing just as fast as Twelve’s own. And Twelve can still feel the echo of Liam’s lips on his, the faint taste of the coffee Liam must have had earlier at work lingering on his lips. Can smell Liam’s cologne and feel the slight dip of the bed underneath him from Liam’s weight. This is real. _This_ is _real_.

“But if you want,” Liam says leaning in again with a teasing smile, “I can help you practice.”

*

Twelve feels it when Liam wakes up, feels the slight change in his breathing with his head pillowed on Liam’s chest and can't help smiling a little when he feels Liam run his fingers gently through his hair.

“Mmm,” Twelve says sleepily, blinking his eyes open.

Liam abruptly pulls his hand away, whispers, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’alright. Feels nice. Again?”

Liam rumbles out a laugh, goes back to running his fingers through Twelve’s hair as Twelve burrows his face into Liam’s shirt and hums.

“You’re like a cat,” Liam says with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Twelve reaches up and swipes at him lightning fast with a fingernail right below his collarbone, leaving behind a faint little pink welt.

“Ow, hey!” Liam yelps as Twelve tries, and likely fails if Liam’s snort is anything to go by, to hide his smirk in Liam’s t-shirt. “You’re only proving my point, you know.”

“Shhh, m’sleeping.”

“Oh, is this you sleep-talking, then? And sleep-scratching?”

“Mm-hm. Twelve isn’t here right now, this is the operative speaking and he’s ordering you to be quiet so Twelve can get his beauty rest.”’

“That’s not funny,” Liam says but he’s giggling despite himself, the gentle vibrations thrumming through his chest underneath Twelve’s cheek.

“The operative thinks it is. You should listen to him, he’s wise and has a great sense of humor.”

“Oh my God, you’re terrible, your jokes are even worse than mine.”

“Nuh-uh…that’s the Boy by the way.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, tell Twelve he better wake up if he wants more kisses cause I’m not kissing a kid. Contrary to apparent popular belief, I _do_ have standards.”

Twelve pops his head up then, chin resting on Liam’s chest and eyes wide. “More practice?”

Liam smiles. “Maybe. Depends on who I’m talking to.”

“Twelve. Definitely Twelve,” he says quickly.

Liam raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Oh, we’re awake now, are we?”

“ _Very_ awake.”

Liam reaches down with his free hand, the one that’s not currently buried in Twelve’s hair, to tangle his fingers with Twelve’s and giggles. “Come here, you.”

Twelve scoots up, eyes on Liam’s lips until they’re close enough for Liam to lean up and press them together, soft and slow and still enough to leave Twelve breathless even after hours of “practice” the night before.

“I love you,” Liam whispers hours later when they’re laying face to face, knees tucked up into each other, lips red and chapped from all their practice. “…is that weird to say even though it’s only been a day?

“No. I don’t know. I don’t exactly have a…what’s the word? A repertoire of relationship experience to draw on,” Twelve says with a smile.

Liam barks out a laugh, one brow raised. “Someone swallowed a dictionary this morning.”

“Shut up,” Twelve says, shoving playfully at his shoulder. And then, “I love you, too. I think.”

Liam raises his eyebrows again. “Comforting.”

“Shut up. I’m trying, okay?”

“You’re cute when you try,” Liam with a teasing smile, scooting closer.

“You’re not cute when you’re cheesy.”

“I bet the operative thinks I’m cute,” Liam says, lips dangerously close to Twelve’s own.

“Nope, he doesn’t. I checked.”

“Oh, well, in that case…” Liam starts, moving to scoot away again before Twelve stops him, scoots himself back into Liam’s space.

“But he wants you to know that Twelve was lying. Twelve thinks you’re always cute.”

“Does he now?”

“Mm-hm. The Boy confirms it.”

“Well, tell Twelve to come back so I can give him a very important message.”

“What do you want to tell him?” Twelve says, lips just a breath away from Liam’s.

“I want him to know,” Liam says, inching closer, lips ghosting over Twelve’s as he speaks, “that I’ve loved him for a really long time. I don’t think I ever stopped…and I still love him now. I don’t care…I don’t care about all the stuff they made you do, I don’t care what they told you or what they made you believe about who you are or…or what you are, I don’t care if there’s three of you or three million of you. I love you. I love all three of you.”

“Even the operative?” Twelve says with bated breath.

“Even the operative…but I’m still only kissing Twelve.”

Twelve huffs a laugh into Liam’s mouth, presses up to kiss him, quick and chaste, before he’s pulling back again, looking into Liam’s eyes. “I don’t know…if this is what love feels like but I know that…whatever this is that I feel…it was the first thing I remembered, like _truly_ remembered, on my own from before. I wish I could tell you for sure—I mean, I—I _want_ to, I just—”

“I know. I know. And it’s okay. It’s _okay_. I don’t care if I have to wait another ten years for you to be sure, I’m just…I’m just happy I get to have you, to—to _be_ with you. I spent so long thinking I’d never see you again, thinking you were—that you were gone fo—forever,” Liam says, voice cracking as he presses his forehead against Twelve’s. “But you’re alive and you’re okay and you’re here and you’re _you_ , even if—even if it you took you a little while to get there and there’s more of you than originally planned.” He smiles and Twelve huffs another laugh into Liam’s cheek. “And even through all of that I never thought in a million years that you would want—that you would want _me_ like I wanted you. I was so afraid that—I never wanted you to think that I was like _them_ , that I was just another person that wanted to…to use you or—”

“You’re _not_. I don’t. I didn’t ever think that. _Never_ ,” Twelve says shaking his head as he brings his hands up to Liam’s face, brings their mouths together again. “Never,” he repeats in a whisper against Liam’s lips after. “You’re everything they’re not. Everything I could have wished for. I may not…know what I feel for sure, and…I know I don’t know very many people, but…you’re the only one I’ve ever felt this way about. Even when we were kids. Even when…when I first came, I trusted you when I didn’t even really know what trust was. I trusted you to take care of me, and I didn’t even know why. And now that I remember what it feels like to love…like, family and friends and that…I know this isn’t that. I know that this is _more_ than that. And I don’t know what that means for sure yet, but I know that you make me wanna be sure. You make me wanna be better, you make me wanna be more than what they made me into, and I don’t ever wanna give that up.”

“You won’t have to. You won’t ever have to,” Liam says into his mouth a little desperately, taking Twelve’s lips between his own. “You won’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to ever again.”

“What about…what about the things I do want to?” Twelve says against Liam’s lips, soft, so soft, barely a whisper. He doesn’t know if Liam’s even heard him at first, thinks for the briefest of moments maybe he doesn’t want him to, maybe it’s a good thing if he didn’t. But then Liam is pulling back, blinking at him.

“You…yeah?” he says, breathless, looking into Twelve’s eyes. “I didn’t—I didn’t want to—I mean, I thought maybe you wouldn’t—I didn’t want to presume that you would want—and I—I didn’t want you to feel, like, pressured or anything cause I don’t mind waiting, but I also wasn’t sure that you would—that you would want—”

“I do.” Twelve swallows, fighting down nerves. “I do. I want everything with you.”

“Yeah?” Liam breathes.

“Yeah.” Twelve nods, brushing their lips together until Liam is kissing him hungrily, Twelve kissing back just as fiercely.

*

“I think we should wait…to tell the others,” Liam says over dinner later that night, free hand tracing over Twelve’s knuckles between their plates at the kitchen counter. “Not, like—I mean, not because I want to, like, hide it or anything. It’s just…this is still so _new_ , like, it will have only been two days tomorrow and—”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind waiting,” Twelve says, flipping his hand so he can slip his fingers between Liam’s, finds himself smiling a little at the way their hands look pressed together before he’s looking back up at Liam’s face. “Louis’ll probably be taking the piss out of us for _weeks_ anyway and I’d rather delay that as long as possible.”

Liam laughs. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be fun. Well, for him maybe, but. Yeah, not so much for us. Definitely’ll have to keep a lid on _this_.” He lifts up their joined hands for emphasis.

Twelve smirks. “Guess we should do it as much as we can now if we wanna get it out of our systems by tomorrow night.”

“And this too,” Liam says with a grin, leaning in to kiss him, soft and slow.

“Mmm,” Twelve whines softly against his lips, pouting a little. “Or we could just cancel and keep doing this.”

“We could,” Liam says pouting back. “But then they’d definitely know something was going on and the jig would be up.”

“You could tell them I’m sick. Or having an episode or something.”

“And have them banging down my door only to find you perfectly safe and healthy and me snogging your face off? No thanks.”

Twelve laughs, bumping their noses together. “I think I’d quite like to have my face snogged off. Not so fond of the whole having an audience part though.”

“Yeah, exactly, me either.” Liam sighs softly, pressing one last quick kiss to Twelve’s lips before he’s pulling back, picking his fork back up and digging back into his food. “But s’only for a few hours, yeah? Then we can go back to snogging till our lungs give out.”

“D’you think that’s actually possible?” Twelve says, brows furrowed and nose scrunched in wonder.

Liam shrugs, smiles slyly. “Probably not. But no one around to stop us from trying, is there?”

*

“What’s with you?” Danny says just a few minutes after he’s let Twelve inside, squinting at him in suspicion as puts on the kettle for tea. “You seem really…happy. Even more so than lately. And you’re all…weirdly fidgety. What’s up? Did something happen?”

Twelve ducks his head, hesitates for a moment wondering if he should even say what he wants to say. Liam doesn’t want to tell the others yet and Twelve gets that but…well, they hadn’t really talked about him telling Danny. He tells Danny pretty much everything though, all the things he can’t talk about to anyone else and he doesn’t really see the need to keep this from him. It’s not like he can go gossiping to Louis or Niall about it or anything after all.

Twelve shrugs, suddenly nervous. “Um…me and, um…me and Liam, we…well, I’m not really sure what we are but…”

“But you’re something?” Danny says with a slight smirk, tone teasing.

“Yeah…yeah, I guess…” Twelve says, nodding a little bashfully, can’t help breaking out into a small smile.

“M’really happy for you, mate. It’s good to see you happy, living your life, you know?”

“Thanks. I’m just…I don’t know…nervous, I guess.”

“What about?”

Twelve shrugs again. “I don’t know, that I’ll…like…mess it up or something, I guess.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Mate, that’s normal. Everyone worries about that.”

“Yeah, but everyone else knows what they’re doing. I’ve got the experience of, like, a toddler. And I don’t even why he—”

“Stopping you right there because you can vent all you want, but what I’m not gonna do is let you sit here and whine and moan about ‘why does he like me,’ ‘I’m horrible,’ ‘I’m evil,’ ‘I don’t deserve him,’ or whatever other shit is running through your head. He likes you because he likes you, simple as that. He clearly knows you, the _real_ you. He knows your past. He’s seen all the shit you’ve been through these past few months just trying to get back to yourself. And he likes you anyway. So what that you’ve got no experience with relationships or whatever? If he really likes you it won’t matter and he’ll be patient with you. Unless he’s an arsehole, but from what you’ve told me about him and the impression I got of him even in the couple minutes we met at the petrol station, he seems like a really good guy. So, just…stop stressing, yeah?”

“Easier said than done.”

“Yeah, well. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“What about you? How’re things with the girl from the bakery?” Twelve asks, leaning against the kitchen counter across from him.

Danny smiles. “Good, really good. She’s amazing. Really sweet and kind. I’m still working out how to tell her though about…about me. Not, you know…not everything, obviously, just probably, like, the bare minimum. But you’re lucky in that respect I guess. Liam already knew all about everything you did and all the stuff you went through and he still chose to be with you. If I tell her…I don’t know, I’m just…I’m not sure she’ll understand, you know? But I also don’t want it to be one of those things I keep secret forever that just…festers until I can’t take it anymore. I’ve told her about you, of course, but she just thinks you’re a friend that’s, like, an old co-worker, which I guess is sort of true, in a way, but. I’m not sure how she’s gonna take it when she finds out the whole truth.”

“What if…what if she met Liam…like before you tell her? That way…when you do tell her she’ll know—or I guess you can tell her that she’s already met—someone who knows about all this and still found a way to be, like, okay with it? Or, at least, he says he is.”

Danny raises an eyebrow. “Am I gonna have to make some sort of rule about this being a doubting-Liam-free-zone? I mean, I get the whole trust issues thing, given the Director and everything else, but this is _Liam_. What reason would he have to lie about that or even to bring it up if he didn’t have to? If he didn’t mean it? Besides aren’t _you_ supposed to be the one comforting _me_ now? Quit whining about how lucky you are so we can get back to my problem.”

Twelve laughs despite himself, shakes his head at Danny’s answering half-smile. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll shut up now. But, um, yeah, I meant it about…meeting Liam.”

“Yeah, you might be onto something there. Plus it’ll give me a chance to scope him out like a proper big brother. See what all the fuss is about and why you apparently can’t go two seconds without talking about him.”

“Christ, you make me sound like a teenage girl,” Twelve gripes scrunching his nose up.

“You _are_ a teenage girl,” Danny retorts, flicking a piece of a scone at him, which Twelve catches and throws right back.

“Whatever, I have to get back anyway. Gotta help Liam clean and set up for tonight.”

“Oh? What was that? Gotta help who?”

Twelve rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

Danny makes a face of mock surprise as he looks down at his watch. “By golly, I think he’s done it! Ladies and gentlemen, he’s broken his record and gone a full thirty seconds without mentioning Liam’s name. Who would’ve thought?”

“I’m leaving,” Twelve says, hiding his smile behind his hood as he pulls it up and heads for the door.

*

It’s hard but Twelve manages to go the whole four hours without touching Liam even though he desperately wants to. Has already gotten so used to it just in the two days that they’ve been a…a _thing_ , that not doing it feels like not scratching an itch or…or trying to keep himself from blinking, like he’s denying himself something that already feels so natural.

He keeps catching Liam looking at him and that’s not so much new as him not being quite so secretive or discreet about it is. And it’s funny how it all clicks in Twelve’s head now. All those times he wondered and thought he was mad or just seeing what he wanted to see that he now realizes were _real_. And he’s never thought himself dense but he supposes he was for a while there when it came to Liam. Found himself doing a bit of that mental gymnastics again, as Louis likes to call it, trying to explain away all the things he thought he saw, or _did_ see, rather.

But none of that matters now. Now that they’re… _this_. Whatever _this_ is. He supposes it doesn’t really need a label. He’s happy enough without one as long as it means he still gets to be with Liam. And in just a little while longer, when the others are gone, he can be again. Well, if they don’t all figure it out first with how much Liam is openly staring.

He sends Liam a look a couple hours in that he hopes says clearly enough _stop staring_ while trying to hide his own smile and it takes Liam a bit to get the hint but he does and thankfully no one seems to notice. Probably just assumes they’re being their normal weird selves. But it manages to get them through the night at least and for once he finds himself being grateful for his non-normalcy.

*

“What’s wrong?” Twelve says later that night when they’re laying in bed, fingers intertwined over Liam’s chest, Twelve’s head on his shoulder.

Liam’s been unusually quiet since everyone left. Has been quiet all day really, when Twelve thinks about it, though he’d figured earlier it was just because he was feeling anxious about keeping this all under wraps around the others. But it’s just them now and Liam’s still barely said more than five words since the others left. Had seemed a little distracted even when they were kissing.

He doesn’t say anything for a while still, just keeps staring up at the ceiling and Twelve wonders if maybe he was too distracted to hear him, is about to repeat himself when Liam squeezes his fingers and sighs softly.

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just…I’ve just been…I was just thinking about…today’s, um…today’s the day that—that—”

“ _Oh_ ,” Twelve says in surprise as it hits him. The date. _September 22 nd_.

“I know last year this time you probably didn’t realize what was going on, but…it’s kind of always been a…a rough couple of days for me, like…remembering how it felt and everything. Even though I have you back…since last year and—and now, especially,” he says with a small smile, “it’s still just…a lot, you know? It’s like…everything I felt that day and—and the day after…when I was still hoping you’d just come walking up the block like nothing ever happened wondering what all the fuss was about…it all just kind of comes rushing back on top of…everything I felt every year you were gone for, Christ, nearly half my life. I must’ve sat there on my front steps everyday after school for…nearly a month thinking, I don’t know, that if I just sat there, you know, if I just sat there long enough you’d—you’d come back,” he says, voice cracking as he wipes at his face hurriedly. “Christ, I’m sorry, look at me blubbering like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Twelve says gently with a shake of his head, sitting up on his elbow to face Liam properly. “You’re not. Not for crying or feeling sad or any of that. We’re always talking about what I went through but…you went through it, too. In a different way, obviously, but you still…you still went through it when you shouldn’t have had to. You still…had your innocence and your feeling of safety ripped away. You still mourned for ten years. You still went through things that a kid shouldn’t have to deal with—that most kids don’t have to deal with, but _you_ did. You’re not an idiot for having feelings. It’s not like you can just turn them off now that it’s over. Trust me, I would know.”

Liam breathes out a laugh at that but it’s a little sad. “Yeah, it’s just…I guess I just thought maybe I would be, you know? Over it, I mean. I thought…I thought maybe now that you’re here and—and I get to be with you, maybe I could get through it without…without having everything coming back and overwhelming me, you know? But…guess not,” he says with a sniffle.

“You don’t have to feel bad about that. Sarah’s always telling me how it’s okay to let myself feel stuff…well, now I’m telling _you_ , it’s okay to let yourself feel it.”

“Yeah…doesn’t make it any easier to…or any less weird, me crying over you when you’re right here.”

“Yeah, but…you’re crying over the ‘me’ you lost. I might be here, but you still lost someone.”

Liam sighs. “Sometimes you’re too insightful for your own good, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, I’m making up for lost time. Ten years of silence means now I’m allowed to go a little overboard with the sage advice and you can’t complain.”

“No complaints here. Except maybe that there’s not enough kissing going on. There should definitely be more of that.”

“Agreed,” Twelve says with an overly serious nod before breaking out in a grin and leaning in to press his lips to Liam’s.

*

“Liam?”

“Hm?”

“What are we?”

“What?” Liam answers, looking up with a bewildered expression from where just a moment ago he’d been half-distracted pouring himself a bowl of cereal. There’s stray Wheaties bits all over the counter now but Liam doesn’t seem to notice, too busy looking at Twelve with wide eyes.

“What are we?” Twelve repeats, voice a little softer, a little less sure this time.

“We’re…together? Boyfriends? Unless…you don’t want to be? In which case we’re whatever you want us to be. Cause I’m fine, I’m cool, with whatever, you know. Whatever you want is fine, or, like, whatever you’re comfortable with cause, I mean, we can, you know—”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes. I want that. The, um…the—the boyfriends thing, um.”

“Oh, ok good. Cause otherwise I was just gonna keep nervously rambling for the next three hours and trying to pretend I was okay with us being not-boyfriends.” Liam breathes a sigh of relief that mirrors Twelve’s own before flashing him a small smile which Twelve returns.

“Boyfriends,” Twelve repeats a little reverently. “Sorry, that’s just really weird for me to say. I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Or a girlfriend. Or any kind of friend that wasn’t strictly platonic, besides, you know, a best friend that I was secretly crushing on, aka you. But you knew that already, obviously. And now I’m the one rambling but I’ve been reading a lot and thinking about it a lot and doing a lot of research and I think I love you.”

And there it is.

He hadn’t been planning on saying it yet but there it is.

And it feels true when he says it, feels real, like the realest, truest thing he’s ever said or done. Like all the forums and books and everything he read said he would feel. It feels like all the clichés he’s ever seen or heard, like being covered in a warm blanket on a cold day, or finding that missing puzzle piece you didn’t know you’d been searching for, or floating a million miles off the ground, or like an entire zoo of butterflies just took up residence in his stomach. That’s how he feels whenever Liam is near and sometimes even when he’s not and when he says the words out loud it feels right, true, _real_. Permanent.

He’d needed to be sure this, with Liam, was what he thought it was before he said anything. Not that he’d been planning to say anything _now_ anyway since he’d wanted it to be a bit more significant and meaningful than something tacked onto the end of a rushed, rambly speech about nothing in particular but it’s out now. It’s done. No going back.

“Sorry, that was meant to be a little more…romantic and tactful than that. And also not leave my mouth for another few days after I’d planned something a little more romantic and tactful to say it over, but.”

“ _But_ nothing,” Liam says blinking at him rapidly. “ _But_ I very nearly jumped over this counter to kiss you silly and am still barely restraining myself from doing so. _But_ that was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard and I will never be able to look at Wheaties the same again. _But_ get over here and kiss me now before I actually do jump over this counter and attack your face with my face.”

Twelve is laughing as he dashes around the counter in record speed—well, for him anyway—and nearly crashes into Liam, knocking him back a few feet with the force of it.

“ _Ooph_ ,” Liam grunts against his lips.

“Sorry, not sorry,” he mumbles, or tries to anyway but he’s a little too preoccupied with Liam’s mouth on his for it to come out as much more than garbled gibberish. He’s pretty sure Liam still makes it out anyway though if the slightly harsh nip to his lip is anything to go by.

*

Liam always stops them before things get too heated. Something Twelve had been a little grateful for before when things were still so new and fragile and overwhelming and the idea of anything more than a press of lips made his heart feel as if it was about to beat right out of his chest. But it’s been a little over three weeks now and he’s starting to wonder if he’s still the reason Liam is holding back or if it’s something else.

Liam kisses and nips his way down Twelve’s jaw, twines gentle fingers through his hair and sucks a bruise over his pulse point that sends a little zing of pleasure racing through him unexpectedly. And then Liam’s pulling away, lips red and shiny and cheeks flushed as he settles back against the sheets beside Twelve and Twelve lets out a soft puff of breath.

They’ve toed the line between _this_ and _more_ for weeks and it’s not that he’s frustrated or anything like that, he’s just not sure what he’s doing wrong. _If_ he’s doing anything wrong. If Liam wants to wait he doesn’t mind. He’d just been under the impression Liam wouldn’t want to. And he doesn’t want to be the reason Liam feels like he has to.

“It’s not me, is it?” he says finally, after they’ve laid there in silence a little while, voice soft because this feels like a fragile moment.

“You what?” Liam says just as soft, cheeks still flushed and brows furrowed as he turns to look at Twelve, sitting up on his forearm.

“That’s holding you back?”

“Holding me back from…?”

“You know…sex.”

Liam’s eyebrows go into his hairline and he makes a small sound almost like he’s choking which he discreetly disguises as a cough before clearing his throat quickly. “Um…I just, um…I just…thought it would be good to…I don’t know, to take things slow, I guess?”

“Because it’s what you want or…because it’s what you thought I would want?”

“I—I don’t know…um…maybe—maybe the second one…”

“Why?” Twelve turns on his side to face Liam properly, regarding him curiously.

“Because, um…because of the—the stuff they did…you know, the—the visitors and…”

“But you’re not them,” he says scooting closer, burrowing a little into Liam’s chest. “I trust you. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me.”

“I just…wanted to give you time.” He runs gentle fingers over Twelve’s hair, brushes his chin over the top of his head.

“I’ve already had plenty. Especially with you and your…stupidly hot shirtless self.” He pokes a finger into Liam’s bare abdomen for emphasis and feels as much as hears the laughter that rumbles through Liam’s chest.

“I would apologize, but.”

“Yeah, you’re not sorry. Arsehole. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Another laugh. “I really didn’t. But I’m still glad it worked…and I guess I got a cute mug out of it that turned out to really come in handy.”

“ _Evil_.” He gives a playful shove at Liam’s chest with his knuckles that maybe has a little more force behind it then he’d intended.

“Ah, hey, careful! Those are my ribs, I do kind of need those intact to breathe.”

“Mphf, you’ll be fine. You’re still in trouble though.”

“Oh? Was the physical assault not punishment enough?”

“Nope.”

“What’s my punishment, then?” Liam takes his arms from around Twelve and goes limp against the sheets, eyes squeezed tight in mock-fear. “Come on, give it to me quick, don’t make me suffer.”

“Hmmm…the punishment shall be…death by smothering. With kisses.”

“Oh no, not kisses! My worst fear!” But he’s giggling as Twelve peppers kisses all over him in rapid succession, squirming in place as he pretends to try to get away.

“Hey,” Liam whispers to him in the dark hours later when they’re tangled up together under the sheets. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispers back, pressing his smile into the warm skin of Liam’s neck. “I love you forever.” And it feels just as real and true and permanent as the first time he said it. Maybe even more.

*

“We don’t have to do it this way,” Liam says, a gentle whisper ghosting over Twelve’s jaw as he hovers half over Twelve. “I don’t mind switching. We can—”

“Liam. It’s okay. I want to.” He lays a hand over Liam’s cheek, makes sure Liam’s eyes are meeting his. “Okay? I want to.”

Liam nods, takes a breath. “Okay, just…you’ll tell me if anything’s uncomfortable or too much or…or if you need to stop for any reason, yeah? Any reason at all?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“ _Twelve_ —”

“ _Yes_ , I’ll tell you. Promise. I’ll be fine, but…if anything happens or goes wrong or whatever, I’ll tell you.”

Liam nods again, takes another breath. “Okay…okay.”

He presses one last quick kiss against Twelve’s lips before he’s pulling back, coating his fingers with lube and Twelve lays back against the pillows and closes his eyes. He isn’t nervous, not in the least, not like Liam is—if his slightly frantic heartbeat is anything to go by—or like he seems to think Twelve must be. He knows how this goes, knows what to expect, knows there’s nothing Liam could do that would hurt him. This is already nothing like with visitors. There’s no harsh shoves or locked doors or code words or freshly starched sheets that smell faintly of bleach and other cleaning supplies he doesn’t know the names for. There’s only him and Liam and gentle kisses and tender touches and soft sheets that smell like Liam’s cologne. In this room, this beautiful, familiar room where he feels the farthest from trapped. This room where he feels safe and surrounded by love and good memories in this moment where it feels like nothing bad can ever touch him again.

Liam presses cool, slick fingers against him and it doesn’t feel like an intrusion or an examination from someone who only wants one thing from him. For the first time he doesn’t have to force himself to relax because he already is relaxed. At least he is until he feels Liam start to press one of his fingers inside and looks down in confusion. He’s done this a thousand times over but he doesn’t ever remember this being a part of it.

“What are you doing?” he says softly, not wanting to alarm Liam or make him think anything is wrong but curious as to what’s going on and why things aren’t going the way he thought.

Liam looks up with a confused expression to mirror Twelve’s own.

“No one…no one’s ever…done this for you?” he says slowly and he looks so sad suddenly that Twelve feels too embarrassed to even say no. This is clearly something he’s supposed to know then. Something that’s normal, that _normal people_ do, that he’s never done and doesn’t know anything about. Maybe he doesn’t know how this goes after all. Maybe everything he knows, or thinks he knows, is wrong yet again. He’d thought he knew what to expect, thought he’d known how this goes right down to the minute details, what to do and what not to do, but it seems that just like with almost everything else he doesn’t really know as much as he’d thought. Not what matters anyway.

God, he can’t even have _one thing_. This had been the one thing he’d been _sure_ he knew how to do, sure he knew everything there was to know about, and it turns out he doesn’t even know how to do _this_ right. He hadn’t been nervous before but he sure as hell is now. Feels completely out of his element in a way he hasn’t in a long time and he looks away from Liam’s sad eyes and down at the sheets underneath his fingers as Liam pulls back a little.

“It’s just…so it doesn’t hurt as much,” Liam explains, seeming to sense his sudden apprehension. “It’s okay if…if you haven’t before, but I…I want to make this good for you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Twelve says, looking back up at him now. He knows this kind of pain. Is so used to it, it doesn’t even really hurt him anymore, not like it had in the beginning when the pain had been so great he’d felt like he was being split in half over and over again. Now it’s more of a mild discomfort, or it had been most of the time when he was still in the program, still being _made_ to do those kinds of things, with the exception of a few visitors who liked to be more rough. He wants this now though, wants to do this for Liam, _with_ Liam. Wants to be good.

“I just want to show you how much better it can be,” Liam says scooting in close again, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Is that okay?”

Twelve nods, still feeling nervous. This all feels new now in a way it hasn’t in a long time. It’s strangely disorienting, makes him feel anxious, like everything he thought he’d known, everything he’d been prepared for, is wrong now. He wonders if all of it will be different or just parts of it, if he’ll have to get used to a completely new way of doing things or if at least some of what he knows, what he remembers, still applies.

Liam runs a hand over Twelve’s hair, says, “Hey, s’okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Twelve shakes his head, looks Liam in the eyes. “No, I—I want to.”

“Yeah? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Twelve nods. He does want this. He wants it for Liam and he wants it for himself and he won’t let whatever stupid preconceived notions they ingrained into him about how all of this should go get in the way of that. They don’t own him anymore, they don’t get to control his life. So what if what he knows is messed up or wrong? He can still be good. _This_ can still be good. He won’t let them ruin this.

“Okay.” Liam nods too, presses a kiss to his lips and then to his jaw, whispers against the corner of his mouth, “Gonna take care of you, yeah?”

Twelve watches him reach around for the lube again, re-wetting his fingers, and then edging back down, pressing against him again and he lets himself relax into the touch. This is what Liam wants, this is what he says will make it good and Twelve trusts Liam. He meant what he said all those months ago about following Liam until he can put all the pieces of himself back together again and stand on his own. If that extends to this too then he’s okay with that. He’ll just have to re-learn some things.

Liam presses inside with one finger and it doesn’t hurt at all but it does feel a little strange, different, the feeling of something so small.

“Okay?” Liam says and Twelve nods, smiling a little when Liam presses a gentle kiss to the side of his knee.

He watches Liam for a while, likes seeing the expression of intense focus on Liam’s face and knowing it’s directed at him. That Liam’s so determined to make this good for him.

“Okay if I add another?” Liam says after a while and Twelve nods again, feels the second finger slip in easily beside the first a moment later. He watches Liam’s face, the muscles flexing in Liam’s arm as his fingers move back and forth inside him at a steady rhythm. It makes him feel calm, peaceful even, and he reaches out to touch, run his hands along the muscles of Liam’s bicep but is suddenly jolted back by some intense, indescribable feeling. He doesn’t know how to explain or describe it, couldn’t even if he tried. It’s almost like a punch, deep inside, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels…he doesn’t know. _Good_ isn’t good enough of a word to describe it.

Liam is looking at him with something between a smirk and a smile on his face as Twelve tries to catch his breath.

“Good?” Liam says.

“What…what was that?”

“It’s called your prostate. It’s like a tiny little…pleasure center I guess you could call it.” His fingers are still buried inside Twelve and he grazes against that spot again teasingly with what’s definitely a smirk this time and Twelve clenches and shivers, grips at the sheets and lets out an involuntary little gasp.

He’d been soft still, before, but he definitely isn’t anymore and he glances up at Liam a little anxiously, unsure if that’s okay, but Liam just goes back to pumping his fingers in and out, pressing the pads of his fingertips against that same spot again and again and suddenly Twelve is finding it really hard to remember how to breathe.

His hips seem to be moving of their own accord and he doesn’t know if that’s okay either but he can’t seem to make himself stop. This is like. Like nothing he’s ever felt before. Little shots of pleasure explode inside him every time Liam’s fingers graze that spot inside and his breath is suddenly coming in shudders. He spreads his legs, wanting more of this feeling and feeling incredibly overwhelmed by it at the same time and Liam just keeps going.

He’s got both fingers pressed in him up to the knuckle now, curled right against that spot and he flexes his fingers inside, nudges them up against it and then relaxes, sliding them halfway out before pushing back in again. They slide in so easy, slick and wet inside, and Twelve didn’t know that could be a thing that turned him on but it is. It definitely is.

His dick is hard and angry red where it lays against the clenched muscles of his stomach, the tip wet. Is that normal? He thinks it’s normal. Maybe. It’s vague in his head but he thinks he remembers that being normal. Not that it matters because Liam’s fingers are sliding back in again, so wet and slick and curling up right _there_ and if this is what sex feels like he never wants it to end.

He feels it when Liam presses in a third finger, squirms a little at the intense pleasure of it when Liam curls it and tucks it up next to first two, slick fingers grazing that spot again and making his hips and his dick jerk as another little spark of pleasure jolts through him. He hears someone make a soft sound and realizes belatedly that it came from him, _he_ made that sound, more shiny wetness blurting out into a sticky mess onto his stomach.

“D’you wanna come like this?” Liam says, voice low, stubbled cheek brushing over the now overly sensitive skin of Twelve’s thigh and Twelve doesn’t understand the question, tries to ask what Liam means but can’t seem to make his mouth form the words. His confusion must show on his face though because Liam pauses in his relentless movements and it’s a relief to be able to breathe properly again but he also doesn’t ever want to stop feeling that feeling and he bites his lip to keep from making another noise he probably shouldn’t be making. “D’you want to just keep going like this or…d’you want…um…” Liam trails off, sits up a little and gestures down at himself awkwardly and Twelve looks down to find that Liam is hard, has been for a while by the looks of it, and _this_ he knows. _This_ is familiar.

He shifts a bit against the pillows, moves a bit further down and spreads his legs a little wider.

“Shit, um, I didn’t mean—I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to,” Liam says, shaking his head quickly. “We can go back to my fingers if you want, I just…wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“It’s okay. I want you to.”

“Yeah? You’re sure?” Liam says softly, still looking a little worried.

Twelve smiles, rolls his eyes. “For the millionth time, _yes_. I’m sure. Do you need me to say it in Russian? Cantonese?”

“Maybe,” Liam says, but he’s fighting a grin of his own now.

He reaches over inside the still-open nightstand drawer, pulling out a small silver packet and it takes Twelve a moment to realize what it is. It’s been a while since he’s seen one since most visitors preferred not to use them and he says, “Oh. Do we need that?”

Liam hesitates, blanches. “I just, um…I just thought…it, um…might be a good idea considering your, um…experience?”

Twelve can’t help but let out a little bubble of laughter and a half-derisive snort at Liam’s choice of words. “Experience?” he repeats. “Are we talking about my job history or my sex history here? Are you gonna ask me for a list of references next?”

“Shut up,” Liam says, cheeks pink now. “I just meant—”

“That because I’ve been with a lot of people I might have an STD, yeah, I remember that much of sex ed at least.”

“Shit, it sounds so much worse when you put it like that.” Liam sighs. “I’m sorry, I keep fucking this up, don’t I?”

“No, it’s…it’s okay, I get it. I don’t though. Have anything, just so you know. Part of our routine was regular testing after time with visitors and even the visitors had to get tested and approved before being with us. I only know cause some of them would complain about it, how long it took to get approved as a new client. It wasn’t that long really. Usually only a couple of weeks tops between the surveying periods—that’s when new visitors would come survey us all, pick which one of us they wanted—and our first session with them. But I guess most of them were probably so used to getting things the second they wanted them that waiting a couple of weeks must have felt like an eternity. Anyway, yeah, I’m not secretly riddled with syphilis or herpes or anything, promise.”

Liam nods, rubs at the back of his neck a little. “Right. Good to know. Although we…probably should’ve had this talk earlier.”

He’s about to ask why when he notices that Liam’s only half-hard now.

“Not, um—not because of that,” Liam says hurriedly when he catches Twelve looking. “Just like…because it’s kind of an important conversation to have to, like, know where we each stand on stuff and everything.”

“Where we stand?” Twelve repeats, confused.

“Like…like STD status and…preferences and stuff.”

“Oh. Is that what people normally do?”

“Probably not most people, but I usually try to.” Liam shrugs. “Better safe than sorry, you know?”

“Yeah,” Twelve says and he wonders now how that would’ve gone if they had. It’s not like he has any preferences to list off, though Liam might. He supposes he could add that thing Liam did earlier with his fingers as the first thing on his list now but other than that he’s kind of at a loss. “Do _you_ have preferences?”

Liam suddenly looks nervous again. “Well, yeah, but…I kind of…wanted tonight to be more about you and…and making _you_ feel good.”

“Won’t it be kind of hard to do that when you’re not?” Twelve says, looking pointedly down at where Liam’s mostly soft now. Liam goes a little pink in the cheeks again but Twelve bites his lip, sits up a little and says, “I can help.”

“Oh. Um…I, um, I mean…”

“I want to…if _you_ want me to.”

“You’re sure?”

“No, I’m just saying I want to for no reason at all. Seriously, Liam, if you ask me that one more time I might actually hit you.”

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” he says in a rush before shifting around on the bed so he’s laying beside Twelve, chest pressed up against the side of Twelve’s arm.

Liam leans in for a kiss and Twelve returns it, pushing up into Liam’s space briefly before pulling back again but Liam looks surprised when Twelve pulls away to slide down. And even more surprised when Twelve takes Liam’s cock in his mouth and swallows him right down.

“Fuck,” Liam gasps, hips jumping a little. He stares down at Twelve, eyes wide as he watches him bob up and down, reaching down to lay his hand over the nape of Twelve’s neck, twine his fingers gently into the short hairs there and it feels nice.

Twelve works up to a precise rhythm, hollows his cheeks and bobs his head, letting the whole of Liam’s length fill his mouth, throat fluttering around him. He swirls his tongue and laves at the shaft from base to tip, flitting the tip of his tongue over the slit, alternating between sucking hard and just letting his lips and tongue glide over Liam’s length gently, giving extra attention to the head and the underside until Liam is panting and squirming underneath him, trying hard to keep his hips from moving though for what Twelve isn’t sure.

After a little while he takes Liam in all the way again and stays there close to the base, giving very shallow bobs of his head and splaying his fingers loosely over the space between where Liam’s hip and thigh meet in a gesture he hopes makes it clear to Liam that he doesn’t have to hold himself back. It takes a bit but eventually Liam seems to get the hint, stops restraining himself quite so much and starts to thrust up, rolling and jerking his hips how he wants. Twelve takes it all in, lets Liam buck up into his mouth until the head of his cock is hitting the back of Twelve’s throat, Twelve swallowing around him every so often until Liam is moaning and swearing a string of curse words, a sweaty, shivering pile of limbs underneath him.

“ _Shit_. Oh, fuck. _Fuck_. Oh, God,” Liam moans over and over again, bucking his hips, tangling both hands in Twelve hair and tugging just a little—and that feels nice too—until he’s wrapping careful fingers over Twelve’s jaw and pulling him up so that just the tip is still inside, only Twelve’s lips wrapped around his red and spit-slicked dick. “Gonna come if you keep that up.”

Twelve blinks owlishly at him, gives one last swirl of his tongue, liking the way it makes him feel to hear Liam whimper and know it’s because of him before he pulls off, moving to lay back against the pillows again, legs splayed open and waiting.

Liam settles back between Twelve’s thighs, coats himself in lube and then presses two slicked up fingers inside Twelve again, right against that spot inside, adding a third shortly afterward and then nudging and twisting them around a little as if he’s testing. Twelve shivers and pushes his hips down, lip between his teeth and eyes fluttering shut, tries to memorize this feeling before it’s gone again. Liam presses in a few more times, twists and curls and then stretches his fingers out and that feels good too. Everything feels good.

Liam pulls his fingers out then ever so slowly and Twelve wonders fleetingly if he’ll be able to make what comes next feel that good too. Is pleasantly surprised when Liam nudges the head of his thick cock against Twelve’s entrance before pushing inside and there’s no pain. None at all. It just feels good, _really_ good, all the nerves in his body but especially _there_ seeming to light up and fire off as Liam glides inside.

Liam pushes in painstakingly slow and even that feels good but torturous at the same time. He takes his time with it, goes inch by painstaking inch, lighting a fire inside that makes Twelve want to shove at him but also just lay back and _feel_ it all at once. When he’s finally all the way inside, hips pressed flush to Twelve thighs, Liam pauses a moment and Twelve doesn’t know what for. But Liam leans over him, seems to be searching his face for something before he finally says in a breathless whisper, “Okay?”

Twelve nods, tilts his head up briefly to press a quick reassuring kiss to Liam’s mouth—Liam who’s still hovering over him completely still—before he’s pulling back again to mumble against Liam’s lips, “Pretty sure for this to work you kind of have to move.”

Liam huffs a breathy laugh, leans his forehead against Twelve’s. “Was trying to give you time to adjust.”

Twelve’s not sure why he would need it but it doesn’t matter because Liam starts moving then, shallow little gentle thrusts of his hips, and even though this is familiar it’s somehow still so different from everything he’s ever known. It doesn’t hurt or feel uncomfortable at all and the feeling of Liam over him like this makes him feel safe and protected instead of trapped and helpless. Liam leans down to press kisses into his jaw and his neck, runs gentle fingers down his chest and his sides and it feels so nice.

Liam’s so warm and gentle and careful with him, even when he wraps sturdy hands around Twelve’s hips and pushes into him deep and everything just feels so _good_. He watches Liam move, likes watching his muscles flex and his skin flush, listening to his breathing and the sounds he’s making—soft little breathy groans and exhales—and the way his skin glistens with sweat. Twelve runs his fingers over the muscles in Liam’s sides, revels in the feel of Liam’s soft breaths against his neck as he presses more kisses there, and the weight and length of him inside. He wonders if it always feels this nice for everyone else or if it’s just Liam that’s especially good at this.

He only has a moment to think the thought though before Liam is shifting his hips, his hand around one of Twelve’s thighs easing Twelve’s legs apart a little more as he thrusts _up_ and Twelve feels the breath knocked out of him. Feels a shock explode through him even more intense than before and it feels like every muscle in his body forgets how to work for a second. Liam pulls out just a little and Twelve has only a moment to drag in a ragged breath before he’s thrusting in again, pushing up, _up_ right against that spot except now there’s _more_ of him, more than just his fingers and a gentle graze. Liam nudges right up against that spot inside hard now with the thick head of his cock and it feels like fireworks exploding inside him. He lets out a whimper without meaning to, bites his lip to keep himself quiet, keep anything else from slipping out, and grasps helplessly at the sheets, eyelids fluttering as he grinds his hips down hard to meet Liam’s in jerky desperate movements.

“Good?” Liam says softly from above him, mouth inches from his own and Twelve tries to say yes, he really does, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is another desperate whimper and he bites lips shut again, looks up at Liam through hooded lids with shuddering breaths and tries to keep his eyes open.

Liam is relentless once he gets a steady rhythm going. Hips snapping up into Twelve and biceps flexing, sweat-slicked skin glistening in the light as he glides steadily in and out. He keeps hitting that same spot over and over and it feels like every time he does the world goes a little more out of focus, leaves Twelve feeling tingly and tender and oversensitive like a raw, exposed nerve.

Twelve can barely keep himself quiet anymore, keeps letting out these helpless little moans and whimpers and can’t seem to keep himself from rolling his hips, grinding down against Liam desperately and a little forcefully wanting both more and no more. Everything feels like too much and not enough at the same time and he wraps his legs around Liam just for some kind of purchase, inadvertently pulling him in deeper without realizing it or meaning to.

 _Fuck_ , he’s _so_ deep now and Twelve never thought that would be something he likes but he _does_ , he _really_ does, and _God_ , he wants to keep Liam there, _right_ there. It feels _so good_ every time Liam pushes in and he wants this to be it because it’s so much already but he also wants _more_. Wants it _deeper_ , _harder_ , _faster_ , wants whatever Liam will give him. And Liam somehow knows what he wants because in the next moment he’s pushing in even harder and faster and deeper and right _there_ it’s _so much, too_ much, but it’s _so, so_ good and _so, so_ _perfect_ too. He feels so _full_. So full of Liam, Liam everywhere around him, surrounding him and filling him up and pressing in just right, deep and hard and so good and he doesn’t ever want this feeling to stop. There’s a fire burning low in his belly and it keeps growing with every push inside, every time Liam pushes in just right and stretches him open, fills him up so full.

“Fuck, look at you. You look so good, babe. So beautiful. Are you close?” Liam whispers against his jaw still pressing in hard and deep and fast and Twelve wants to ask _close to what_ but he can’t get the words out and then Liam is wrapping a hand around his angry red, leaking cock and tugging once, twice, and the whole world whites out. Every muscle in his body goes taught, toes curling as the fire in his belly burns hot all the way through him and he can’t _breathe_ but he’s somehow still letting out these sounds. And Liam just keeps pushing up into him right through it and he feels his eyes roll back and wet heat on his stomach and chest and then he just goes limp, all the energy and strength seeping out of him at once. His chest is still heaving for breath but he feels boneless, too weak to move and Liam is still pounding into him, slick and hard, skin slapping against skin and he’s so sensitive and it feels like too much but in a good way.

“So beautiful. So, so beautiful, you know that?” Liam says into his mouth as he leans in for a kiss and the angle has him pushing right up against that spot again _hard_ , grinding into it, and everything goes a little out of focus again as he clenches around Liam weakly, moans right into his mouth and Liam just swallows it down and holds him close. Grinds up into him some more until he’s groaning and swearing against Twelve’s lips and all Twelve can feel is slick, wet heat inside and the little bit of strength he has left has him rolling his hips against Liam’s feebly to chase the feeling before Liam’s slowing down and eventually stilling, his own heaving chest straining against Twelve’s.

“Fuck,” Liam whispers into his neck tiredly, breath ghosting over Twelve’s oversensitive skin as Liam nuzzles into it with his nose and Twelve shivers involuntarily, still feeling so sensitive all over. After a little while Liam sits up a little, smooths Twelve’s sweaty hair back from his face and just looks at him for a moment before he starts to make a move to pull himself out but Twelve reaches up to wrap his fingers around Liam’s shoulders and pull him back down before he can.

“Mm-mm,” Twelve manages with a weak shake of his head.

“Okay,” Liam says, running gentle fingers through his sweaty hair. “Just let me know as soon as you start to get uncomfortable, yeah?”

Twelve nods, closes his eyes at the feel of Liam’s fingers combing through his hair and the feeling of Liam still warm inside him.

Later, when Liam has cleaned them both up and they’re curled together under the sheets, Twelve’s head pillowed on Liam’s shoulder, voice soft and a little raspy, Twelve says, “I never knew it could feel that good.”

Liam smiles, runs a hand over Twelve’s hair again and twirls the ends over his fingers. “That’s why I wanted to show you. Wanted you to see just how good it could be. It won’t ever be like it was with them, I can promise you that.”

Twelve nods. He’d known that from the start but it’s still nice to hear Liam say it aloud, to confirm it, make it known, make it _real_. “Can we do it again?”

Liam raises his eyebrows and lets out a breathy laugh. “What, right now?”

Twelve bites his lip, looks down at Liam’s chest a little nervously.

“You’re serious?” Liam says incredulously. Twelve looks up at him through his lashes, nods a little bashfully, and Liam gives him a small, slightly rueful smile. “Oh, come on, don’t look at me with those big, sad eyes, that’s not fair. I would if I could, babe, honest, but I really don’t think I have the strength or even the physical capacity for it right now. You kind of wore me out, you know. Pretty sure I won’t even be able to get it up again for _hours_. In the morning though, I promise, yeah?”

Twelve sighs, but relents, lays back down on Liam’s shoulder and Liam reaches across with his other arm to turn out the lamp, pressing a quick kiss to Twelve’s forehead and pulling the duvet up over them. He’s asleep within minutes, softs breaths evening out in no time at all, and Twelve isn’t far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the second half of this chapter was super soppy…buuut i felt like they deserved it after 8589034859308595 chapters of angst so. yeah.
> 
> also apologies for the impromptu Serious Sex Talk in the middle of the super steamy sex scene/sexytimes that you’ve probably been waiting this entire fic for but it was also kind of necessary so.
> 
> also also, at this point in the fic Twelve still has issues with understanding and expressing his own feelings/wants/desires as an individual and differentiating those feelings from Liam’s, which means he sometimes conflates Liam’s own feelings/wants/desires with his own and although at first it may have come off a teensy bit like he was just agreeing to or pushing for sex because he knew Liam wanted it, it's really just because at that moment he's still kind of struggling with expressing himself and admitting his own wants and desires which you see throughout the chapter he gets a little better at eventually. and then on top of that he still doesn’t understand a lot about how sex works (especially between two willing partners as opposed to one-sided abuse) and doesn’t understand/realize that it’s possible to experience pleasure or even an orgasm from anything other direct hand-on-dick stimulation so that’s why he’s so confused about the idea of that happening just from Liam’s fingers and why he’s so confused when Liam asks, just in case any of that wasn't clear.
> 
> aaaand triple also: **fyi we are coming to a close guys…only three more chapters till the end and then it’s time to embark on the next stage of this story aka the sequel (yay!!!) hope you guys are happy with how this all has developed up to now even if it has been a torturously slow and emotionally taxing journey that took ridiculously long to finally get to the ziam you’ve all been waiting so patiently for :)**
> 
> as always comments and kudos are very much appreciated and feed my soul (and my fuel to write)!


	43. Chapter 43

_Liam_

Kissing Twelve feels like everything he’s ever wanted and could ever possibly need. It’s just a press of lips, just a simple, chaste press of lips but it’s _Zayn_. Or Twelve, but still Zayn. That kiss, that first kiss still feels just like it had all those years ago, that same rush, that same euphoric feeling of everything coming down to just the two of them in a room having this incredible moment and it’s _everything_. Everything he could have hoped or wished or asked for and more because Liam had wanted this before he’d even known what it was he'd wanted, what it meant to want someone or something so deeply. Wanted this even when he couldn’t admit to himself what it was he wanted or was looking for. Even through all the years he’d tried not to think about it, years spent trying to get over it or pretend like it didn’t happen. Like it hadn’t meant as much to him as it had because realizing it, admitting it, would mean having to face everything he lost twice over and so he’d buried it. But even after all of that, after everything— Zayn coming back and remembering himself, remembering his family, remembering _Liam_ —he’d never once thought he could have this.

But now he gets to. After everything over the years, everything both him and Twelve have had to go through, after everything they’ve faced even in just these past few months, now he gets to.

He still can’t believe Twelve said _yes_. That everything he’d agonized about for weeks, months even, with his own feelings, has ultimately still led here, to this moment. This incredible moment. This moment that he’s realizing now doesn’t ever have to end because they have the rest of their lives. If Twelve will have him, that is. If he doesn’t change his mind or decide he wants something else, someone else, later on down the line. But now isn’t the time to be worrying about all of that. Now is the time to be happy that this incredible, beautiful, brave, strong man who’s suffered so much in his life, seen the absolute worst mankind has to offer, is still willing to give love a chance, give _Liam_ a chance. And Liam sure as hell isn’t going to let it go to waste. Because if it’s up to him he’s going to do everything he can to make this last and make sure Twelve is never hurt or unhappy ever again.

*

Things are good. Things are great. For those first couple of days everything is magic, surreal, and Liam feels on top of the world. And then the 22nd rolls around and all the pain and the guilt and the loss and the despair and everything just comes rushing right back in just like it has every year since that day. It doesn’t matter that Twelve’s been back over a year or that he spends most of the day right there next to Liam, Liam still can’t seem to stop himself from looking over at him, checking, making sure he’s real, that he’s still _here_. That Liam’s not still that same little boy sitting on his front steps waiting, desperately hoping, that Zayn will come walking right back up the block like nothing ever happened or tapping on his bedroom window late in the evening looking to get away from the noise of his own over-crowded house. Waiting for him out on the pavement outside his front door in the chilly morning air so they can make the short walk to school together or yelling through Liam’s half-open window for him to come out so they can ride their bikes down to the comic shop and maybe stop for ice cream after.

All that’s long past now but he can’t seem to stop himself from feeling it still. Memories of years spent sifting through the worn pictures and comics and random little knick-knacks that filled the box Liam kept under his bed after Zayn disappeared. Things Zayn had left behind. The only real tangible reminders Liam had that he’d ever even existed after Zayn’s family left. That he hadn’t just been some made-up thing in his head he’d conjured up to cope with the loneliness like it sometimes felt. Trying not to let the insidious whispers get to him.

_I heard his friend ran away cause his parents were terrorists and he didn’t want to be turned into one too. Well, I heard it was the dad cause he found out they were fags so he killed him and hid the body and now he’s after Liam. I heard the whole family did it together._

_I heard it was Liam that did it cause he had some kind of creepy obsession with his friend but the other boy thought he was weird so Liam killed him. Hey, d’you think that Liam kid was lying when he told the cops that boy just ran away? Oi, mate, look there’s that weird kid, twenty quid says he’s got that other boy’s body in pieces underneath the floorboards._

_I heard they’re all terrorists, Liam too. I don’t think he’s dead, I’ll bet the bloke probably just wanted to get out of this shit town and away from that spaz. No way, Liam definitely did it. D’you reckon they’ll find that missing kid? Hey, how much do you wanna bet that creep’s got him tied up in his basement right now while all the cops are out looking for him?_

_Did you hear that Liam kid’s a murderer? I thought he was a terrorist. Maybe he’s both._

_That missing kid’s whole family gives me the creeps, they’re probably all terrorists, even the little one. What’s that weirdo even still doing here, shouldn’t he be getting arrested? It’s sad what happened to that kid’s friend but I always thought they were both a bit dodgy. Did you hear that missing kid’s family moved away? Good riddance, if only that other kid would too, he’s mental._

He’d sit on his bedroom floor in the dark, cheeks wet and hands shaky and pull out all the things he’d saved from inside that shabby little box just to remind himself that it was real, that _Zayn_ was real. That he’d _existed_ and he’d _mattered_ and he’d had people who loved him and missed him besides Liam, that he’d been a best friend and a brother and a son, and amazing ones at that. That he wasn’t just some runaway who’d leave everything and everyone that ever mattered to him behind without a trace.

He’s hit with all those feelings two-fold when he gets a call from Trisha while Twelve is out with Danny. She claims she’s just checking in, making sure Liam’s alright and that Twelve’s doing okay but Liam still hears all the things she doesn’t say. _Is he still here? Is he still safe?_ _Are you feeling all the things I’m feeling right now too? Are_ you _really okay?_

Liam doesn’t know if he’ll ever truly be over it. Or if any of them will for that matter. If he’ll ever be able to go through these couple of days just like every other day without feeling like that scared, desperate little boy all over again or worrying that Twelve is suddenly going to disappear before his eyes. But at the end of the day he figures he can only take it one step at a time and so that’s what he does.

*

Things go back to being great again once he makes it through those tumultuous couple of days. Twelve’s more and more back to his old self, even if he still claims he doesn’t feel like it. Makes witty, sarcastic comments and flashes that trademark smirk everywhere, starts pointless squabbles and play-fights with Liam—though now thankfully there’s way more kissing involved than there was when they were kids. Even makes jokes about his other personalities. Or identities. Sides, maybe. Liam’s still not entirely sure what to call them. But the point is he’s _him_ , more and more like the Zayn Liam remembers, despite what he might claim when he’s still feeling so unsure of himself and his progress.

Liam won’t push. Firmly believes he’ll come to see it in his own time when he’s ready but for now things are steady. Even more so than they had been before. Which is why it’s such a curveball when Twelve ends up being the one to push _Liam_ into sex. Or, well, that’s not the greatest or most accurate way of putting it. It’s not that he pushes Liam into it, just that he’s clearly more willing and ready than Liam reckoned he would be and also, ironically, the first one to bring it up. It’s a twist of events Liam definitely didn’t see coming but Twelve’s always been rather blunt and when he thinks of it so was Zayn when they were younger so he supposes it does in some way make a weird amount of sense.

It doesn’t hurt that it’s probably the most mind-blowing sex he’s ever had in his life and that’s taking into account the brief stint he had with a professional gymnast shortly after he graduated uni. But somehow being with Twelve is like…entering a whole other universe or something and he doesn’t know if it’s because it’s one of those things where he’s built it up so much in his head after waiting so long that it just _seems_ so much more amazing or if it has to do with Twelve’s history and his experience, for lack of a better word, or if it’s just because there’s so much love there where there wasn’t really with much of anyone else, with the exception of maybe one or two others, before. Maybe it’s all of the above but whatever the reason Liam doesn’t much care because it doesn’t change the fact that he’s looking at a future full of incredible sex, if their first time is anything to go by, and he, for one, certainly won’t be looking back.

*

Liam might maybe be looking back. A little.

He hadn't known what door he was opening, but Twelve is insatiable after that first night. Liam thinks he finally sort of understands how newlyweds must feel when they're trying for a baby because that's about how he feels after just over a week of dealing with an overzealous Twelve. It’s already starting to feel like work and it’s getting to be almost exhausting just trying to fend him off.

Like right now.

The minute he walks through the door after a long day at work Twelve is there waiting.

"Hi," Twelve says with that coy smile of his, greeting Liam at the door in nothing but a pair of Liam's own thin joggers.

"Hi," Liam says warily and he's barely had a moment to put his things down before Twelve is crowding into his space and tilting his chin up for a kiss. Liam kisses him back automatically but pulls away the moment he starts to feel Twelve's hands roaming. "Babe, I'm sorry, but I'm exhausted. All I wanna do right now is curl up on the couch."

"Naked?" Twelve says, sounding a little hopeful.

"No. Very _not_ naked. The opposite of naked. Preferably as many clothes as possible."

Twelve pouts.

Liam shakes his head. "No way. I'm not falling for your puppy dog eyes this time." He disentangles himself from Twelve's arms a little guiltily and goes to change out of his work clothes and into his sleep clothes, looking forward to making himself a quick microwavable dinner and falling into bed. But when he comes back out into the living room Twelve is sulking on the couch looking as pitiful as ever.

Liam rolls his eyes but it’s with love as he flops onto the couch next to Twelve and relents, pressing a slobbery kiss to his cheek. “Okay, hand job, but that’s it. That an okay compromise?”

Twelve whines a little, pouting again. “Can I suck you off after?”

Liam swallows, takes a shallow breath in through his nose and breathes it out slowly. He’s still trying to get used to how blunt Twelve is about all of this. He just says things, all matter of fact, with no regard to how flustered or overwhelmed and overheated they make Liam feel and Liam’s not sure if he’ll ever be over it. But he’s at least trying to make an effort to get himself somewhat accustomed to hearing it, expecting it, so that he hopefully doesn’t have to worry quite so much about dying of a heart attack before he even reaches thirty.

“We’ll see,” he says against Twelve’s jaw, nipping at it a little.

That at least seems to placate him for the moment and he curls up like a cat into Liam’s side, sighing contentedly, dropping his head to Liam’s shoulder and closing his eyes as Liam snakes a hand under the waistband of his joggers.

*

The time’s come for them to finally tell the others and Liam’s a little nervous. It’s been just a little over a month now that they’ve been together and they’ve talked about it. It doesn’t feel quite so fragile and new and delicate anymore now that they’ve blown their way past the first kisses and I love you’s and the sex—the mind-blowing but incredibly exhausting sex—and they’re both at a point where they don’t feel so much the need to hide it anymore. It’s getting to the point where it’s becoming frustrating, trying not to touch each other or look at each for too long whenever they’re around any of the others and it’s time. They’ve waited long enough.

Liam’s not quite sure why it is he feels nervous about it though. It’s not like he’s worried they’re gonna reject him and Twelve or anything, but it still just feels like such a momentous thing. Like him announcing it, putting it out there into the universe and laying it bare, will somehow change things. Rationally he knows that nothing’s going to change or suddenly be different just because he’s saying it out loud to other people but he still can’t help the nervous energy thrumming through him as the others all file in and get right to their usual routine, splaying out across the floor and couch and cracking open beers as Louis sets up and deals out cards for a game of Uno because apparently tonight is the night for ruining friendships. Liam’s honestly a little surprised he didn’t break out the worn box of Monopoly from back in their uni days that he’s positive is still stuffed in the back of one of his and Harry’s closets somewhere.

Liam takes his cards and sets them aside, mumbling a quick thanks and bumping his knee discreetly and conspiratorially against Twelve’s before sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat.

“So, I have an announcement,” he says with an air of authority he doesn’t quite feel, trying to get everyone’s attention over the squabbling that’s currently going on regarding how many cards they’re supposed to start with. Or something or other. He’s not entirely sure. He hasn’t exactly been paying full attention what with his mind being occupied by other, more pressing things.

“Oi! Pipe down, will you? Liam says he’s got an announcement,” Sarah says when the arguing continues as if Liam hadn’t even spoken. Everyone goes quiet when Sarah says it and Liam shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“What’s up, mate?” Niall says, eyes bright, all of them peering at him expectantly now.

“So, um…Twelve and I are sort of…together now.”

There’s a brief pause as they all exchange a significant look across the circle and then.

“Oh, thank Christ,” Louis says loudly in typical over-dramatic fashion before sticking his hand out toward Niall. “Forty quid. Come on, cough it up.”

Niall rolls his eyes and grumbles, but pulls out the cash and slaps it into Louis’s hand.

Liam splutters, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Wha—I—you guys made _bets_ on us?”

“Course we did,” Louis says like it’s obvious, like _Liam’s_ the ridiculous one for not knowing.

Louis hands one of the twenty pound notes to Harry and Liam looks at Harry in shock and slight betrayal, eyebrows practically at his hairline. " _Really_ , Haz?"

Harry shrugs. "What? If an opportunity to make easy money comes along I'm always gonna take advantage. Not my fault I had information they didn't. Louis just happened to make a lucky guess and agreed to split if it we were right, which I knew we would be."

“I, for one, didn’t need any inside information, you two were obvious as hell,” Louis says, grinning and running his fingers over the note, holding it up to the light to make a whole show of checking over it as if to make sure it’s not counterfeit like he’s some sort of old-timey street peddler or something.

“It wasn’t even really a fair bet to be honest,” Niall gripes. “It wasn’t like I was saying I thought it would never happen. Honestly, it was a bit like watching a cheesy teen romance film. It was kind of inevitable. But I only bet against you all cause I figured you’d both just keep going on being too busy acting like stubborn arseholes and pretending you weren’t both head over arse for each other to ever get your shit together.” Niall huffs, crossing his arms and eyeing the notes he gave Louis and Harry across the circle sourly, clearly sulking.

“ _I_ was not involved in this,” Sarah adds, “but for the record I would have bet with Louis and Harry on this one. I tried to advise Niall not to bet against them but you know him, always going around with that Irish stubbornness and then Louis had to go and _dare_ him to bet the other way and of course he couldn’t say no once Louis made it a challenge, so here we are.”

Louis shrugs, clearly unapologetic. “What can I say? Niall’s an easy target. Almost as easy as you, Leemo.”

Liam rolls his eyes, catching Twelve’s sly smirk from where he’s sat back on his hands next to Liam watching this all play out with mild interest.

“Whatever,” Liam says grabbing up his cards in a rush and splaying them out in his hands to check out what he’s got in his arsenal. “Let’s play.”

“Yes, lets,” Louis says from Liam’s other side, eyeing everyone around the circle menacingly.

Liam’s glad they settled on going counter-clockwise because he’s got plans for Louis.

*

“D’you think we should wait? To tell your family?” he mumbles into Twelve’s hair the next morning, Twelve splayed languidly half on top of him. “D’you think they’d have a problem with it?”

“Mmm. I know it might sound kind of…cold, or whatever, but honestly? I don’t really care how they feel about it. It just seems kind of…insignificant in the grand scheme of things, you know? Like out of everything else why should it matter? I mean, I _want_ them to be okay with it obviously, but if they’re not…if they can look past all the other horrible things I’ve done but not be okay with _this_? That’s on them, you know? I’ve wanted this for so long now and I never thought I’d have it, have _you_. But now I do, and I’m not gonna let them or anyone else mess it up. Except maybe myself,” he says with a timid and slightly self-deprecating smile as he lifts his head, resting his chin on Liam’s chest and tracing circles over the short hairs there. “Cause fair warning, I probably _will_ do something to fuck things up at some point. Probably multiple points. But…you make me better, you make me _want_ to be better, and I don’t know if I could do this without you in my life.”

“Hey, no, you won’t fuck it up, okay?” Liam says, smoothing hands over his long hair. “You could never fuck it up…I don’t care if you wreck the whole flat or throw things at me or say a ton of mean shit to me or run away for a week or even try to stab me again with a pen like you almost did in your sleep that one time, I’ll still be here.” Twelve lets out a breathy laugh, burying his face in Liam’s chest in mild embarrassment and Liam chuckles, poking him in the cheek. “I’ll always be here, no matter what. It’s _you_ , it’s always been you. I don’t want anyone else. I never thought…I never thought that I could have this either, but now that I have you I’m never letting you go for anything and nothing you do could ever mess that up or change that. ”

“Mphf. Why are you so soppy and embarrassing?” Twelve says into his chest, voice half-muffled.

“ _You_ started it.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to finish it.”

“Well, tough luck, I did. So. What are we doing about your family? Are we waiting? Are we telling them? What?”

“I thought that was obvious. What with the whole ‘I don’t care what they think’ speech. We’re telling them. And if they don’t like it then they can shove it. Well, not really obviously, but. You get my point.”

“Okay, Mr. Snarky Pants.”

“I’ll show you snark,” he says with sharp bite to Liam’s pec but his voice is still muffled by Liam’s chest so it kind of loses the effect Liam’s pretty sure it’s supposed to have but he doesn’t mind.

*

“Thank _God_ ,” Waliyha says when they announce it to the whole Malik family. They’re all scrunched together on the couch and floor with tea and store-bought biscuits while Liam and Twelve stand anxiously in front of them because Liam had thought it would be better to ply them with something nice before they dropped the news. Just in case it didn’t go over as well as they both were secretly hoping. But clearly at least one of them is already on board. “I was beginning to think we were going to have to deal with you two sneaking not so subtle glances and ogling each other from across rooms for the rest of our lives.” She turns her tirade on Twelve then, lifting one perfectly arched eyebrow at him accusingly. “By the way, you know, for a supposed assassin you're not actually all that good at being discreet or subtle. It’s a wonder they didn’t kick you out of assassin school or whatever and send you right back to us for being so glaringly obvious.”

Doniya lets out a surprised sounding snort, tea dribbling over her chin as she slaps a hand over her mouth in an effort to hold in her laughter and presumably also a whole mouthful of tea. Safaa’s just grinning up at them both like a loon, which just leaves Trisha and Yaser who have been suspiciously quiet since he and Twelve first finished stuttering through their announcement and subsequent, somewhat anxious explanation.

“We’ve, um…we’ve known for quite a while actually, Yaser and I,” Trisha finally says, the two of them sharing a brief conciliatory smile before they turn back to Liam and Twelve, both of whom just blink at them in stunned silence. “We always knew there was…something between you two, even when you were younger. We just figured you’d tell us in your own time, when you were ready. And then…after you were back and you started to remember…we started noticing things and we thought ‘well, here we go again.’” She laughs briefly, more just a breathy exhale through her nose as she shakes her head fondly. “And then a few weeks ago Yaser noticed you two acting a little differently. A little more open with each other but guarded, as if you were keeping an eye out for anyone who might be watching and we figured you two’d finally worked it out and that it was only a matter of time before you told us officially.”

“Wh—is—do _my_ parents know?” Liam says after another brief moment of stunned silence.

Trisha nods. “Oh, yeah. We’ve all known. It’s become a bit of a running joke between the four of us. I mean, it was when you were younger too, but…even more so now. Like Wali said, it’s a bit obvious. Always has been really.”

Doniya nods as if corroborating all this and again all Liam can do is blink.

“Right,” he says finally after yet another long silence. “Guess that whole announcement was sort of for nothing then.”

“Oh, no, it was still lovely. Very cute,” Trisha says, smiling and nodding reassuringly.

“Right. Cute,” Twelve repeats with a quirk of his brows.

“Oh, quit pouting and just be happy we’re not teasing you mercilessly,” Doniya says with a roll of her eyes.

“Aren’t you though?”

“What, that that just happened? That’s _nothing_. It’s only going to get worse from here, trust me. Wali will tell you. She’s lived through the worst of it out of all of us probably. We’ve all gone through it. Now it’s _your_ turn.” She flits her gaze back and forth between them and smiles and Liam doesn’t think he’s exaggerating when he thinks to himself that it looks a little—or a lot—evil.

*

“Christ, babe, you're gonna kill me,” Liam groans as Twelve kisses his way down Liam’s still slightly sweaty chest. They’d already gone twice today before it was barely even noon. And the last go just a little while ago marked three. Liam’s exhausted. He doesn’t think he can do a round four. He barely even made it through number three.

“I just wanna be with you.” Twelve pouts, pulling back and resting his arms over Liam’s stomach, dropping his chin down to rest atop his folded arms.

“Yeah, well…” Liam says breathlessly, “we can’t all be supersoldiers with apparent stamina for days, you know. Some of us need sleep and also maybe an ice pack for our poor, overworked dick."

"I can make it feel better," Twelve says, eyes big and earnest as he starts to snake a hand down between Liam’s thighs.

"Oh, God, please don't. I think it might _actually_ fall off if you try anything else."

Twelve whines softly. “Can we still kiss at least?”

“Kissing. Yes. Kissing is good. Kissing is fine. Kissing is innocent. Mostly. But fair warning if you try anything funny I’m calling it quits on that too. From now till at least the end of the day we’re keeping it strictly PG. Deal?”

“Fine,” Twelve grumbles but he scoots himself up into Liam’s space and presses their lips together, nipping at him a little in retribution but Liam doesn’t mind. He’ll take a little biting over a broken dick any day. He’s seen what happened to Schmidt on New Girl and he doesn’t need that in his life.

*

“I think maybe Twelve's trying to kill me with sex,” he complains to Louis over the phone a few days later. “Like maybe it’s all a part of his master plan. He couldn’t bring himself to kill me in a violent way so he’s using sex as, like, his weapon.”

“ _I_ think maybe you don't realize how much of a non-problem that is. I mean, if you're gonna go, that's kinda the best way _to_ go if you ask me. And in the meantime while you're waiting out your death at least you're getting plenty of what I'm assuming is super amazing sex if he's up for it that often, and especially considering his...unique skillset, I'd imagine that must be pretty helpful with keeping things interesting and all.”

“His nonconsensual skillset you mean?” Liam replies, feeling like Louis shouldn’t need the reminder that it’s not really a skillset when you’re talking about years of forced assault and abuse, but feeling the need to point it out anyway based on where he’s sensing this conversation is heading.

“What? No. I was talking about his whole secret superpowers thing actually, _not_ the whole abuse thing, but leave it to you to assume I'm going straight for the worst of gutters.”

“Because you usually are.”

“Yeah, fair enough. But anyway the point is I'm not here for your whining about non-existent problems. Didn't anyone ever tell you you should enjoy a good thing while it lasts? Take it from someone who is getting absolutely none right now, this is a good thing. Enjoy it. On behalf of those of us who can't.”

“I would. Trust me, I _so_ would. But I feel like a fucking seventy-year-old trying to keep up with a twenty-year-old. It's _exhausting_ , Lou. And I feel so guilty every time I have to tell him no.”

“As you should. Look, the way I see it you’ve got a good thing going, you just need to talk it out and lay down some ground rules. Like maybe…no more than x rounds per day, no funny business after 11pm on a workday because sleep, nothing in the morning on workdays because sleep, maybe even set a weekly quota so if you hit your limit for the week before it’s up he knows it’s swerve time, etcetera, etcetera.”

“That’s…actually a really good idea. All of those are, to be honest. Thanks, mate.”

“Glad I could be of service. Now can we talk about actual real problems now? Like this new intern they just brought on at my office who’s terrible and always gets my coffee order wrong? I didn’t even want to hire him, which _should_ be my right as office manager, but corporate forced him on us. I think maybe he’s someone’s son or nephew or something or other, but he’s fucking awful I’m telling you…”

*

"Christ, you really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Liam groans for the second time that week when Twelve wakes him up with his mouth sucking a bruise into Liam’s stomach and a hand down his joggers.

They really do seriously need some ground rules. Because Liam’s got work in an hour and now thanks to this he’s going to spend the whole day sexually frustrated _and_ cranky because Twelve already kept him up late last night and he couldn’t even let Liam get his last precious ten minutes in this morning before his alarm goes off. Liam looks over at his alarm clock, still seven minutes before his usual wake-up time, and thinks _r.i.p., no more sleep for me this morning_ before he’s prodding gently at Twelve’s shoulders and pulling him up.

“Twelve, I _can’t_. I have work and I’m already tired and we _just_ went late last night. We need _rules_. Starting with nothing in the mornings before work.”

Twelve sighs, flopping down a little forcefully against Liam’s bicep, Liam just barely restraining himself from saying _ow_ pointedly because Twelve still sometimes forgets his own strength and even though he may technically weigh only about three quarters of what Liam does his weight still packs a punch behind it when he’s not careful.

“I’m not trying to make this feel like a punishment or anything, yeah? I just can’t keep doing this all the time,” Liam explains.

Twelve is quiet for a while, unmoving. So long Liam starts to wonder if he’s being subjected to the silent treatment before Twelve finally sighs again and starts to speak. “It’s just…I spent so many years missing out on how amazing sex can be and now I get to and you always make me feel so good and, I don’t know, I just want it all the time, I want _you_ all the time. Is that so bad?”

“’Course not. But as flattering and ego-boosting as that is to hear we can’t all be as blessed as you, able to go from zero to sixty over and over and over. I’ve got the physical restrictions of a normal human man limiting me, not to mention responsibilities that I can’t exactly put on hold all the time. I know it’s not the same but…maybe when I’m not here you can try some stuff out yourself so you don’t feel quite so reared up every time I’m home? Or feel like you have to wait for me to come home before you do anything?”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything on my own. It doesn’t feel right…feels like I’m doing something wrong or that I’m not supposed to and I know that I shouldn’t feel ashamed of it or anything. That’s not what it is, it’s just…” he trails off, seeming to get frustrated with not being able to express himself properly but Liam’s pretty sure he understands where he was going anyway.

“I get it.” Liam nods. “I do. I mean, for so long you weren’t allowed to do _anything_ to your own body that wasn’t done _for_ you, weren’t even allowed to bathe yourself much less anything else and that…that kind of thing doesn’t just go away so easily. I know that. But I just can’t…be ready to go all the time, you know? I don’t have your stamina, unfortunately, so…this is just gonna have to be a learning curve for both of us, yeah? We’ll set some rules and…maybe work together to work up to getting you more comfortable with yourself, yeah?”

“Yeah…okay,” Twelve says in a small voice, letting Liam press consoling kisses into his forehead and the top of his hair.

“Love you, yeah?”

“Love you, too,” Twelve replies automatically, snuggling into Liam’s side for the few more minutes of restfulness they have before Liam has to get up and start getting ready for the day and Liam wraps an arm around him, holding him close and wishing he didn’t have to leave quite so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie i was sitting here listening to the bad remix by wale and rihanna on repeat while writing the majority of this chapter lmao…that song is such a twelve song tbh (if you ignore the commitment issues part)…might have to think about maybe making a playlist for this fic/verse lol >>> note: this was sitting in my drafts for forever and i’ve since actually gone and made a playlist because i’m ridiculous but i’m not sharing it till the end of the fic for reasons, so be on the lookout for the link on tumblr in a couple of weeks when the last chapter’s been put up!
> 
> also made some additions to the [timeline](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166478480328/twelve-fic-timeline)—putting the rest of the additions under a read more though to avoid major spoilers for future readers—but go check that out when you can if you’re so inclined!
> 
> as always comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I only got one response to the code word suggestions thing...so I'm taking that to mean no one's really interested in that kind of thing...idk I guess that was a bad idea? And maybe we can just like...forget it ever happened lol?
> 
> Anyway onto what you're here for...

_Zayn_

Twelve isn’t trying to be a burden. He really isn’t. It’s just being with Liam always leaves him feeling so amazing, not just physically but in every way. The sex is incredible, better than anything he could have ever imagined or had ever known before now, but even just being around Liam _does_ something to him. He feels like he’s a better person when Liam’s around. And he never thought he could feel this happy or this whole, like every day’s not so much of a constant fight to keep himself together and like there’s nothing that can bring him back down again. But that’s how he feels every time Liam walks in the door and he can’t help constantly feeling like he just wants to be _closer_ , just wants to be _with_ him all the time. And it’s not like there aren’t still hard days but the good outweighs the bad much more so than the other way around now and he doesn’t ever want to go back to that dark place where it felt like nothing he did would ever be right and he would never feel whole again.

He knows sometimes he’s being childish, pouting and goading Liam into things like a spoiled child but in his defense it usually works and Liam always seems to feel better after too, more relaxed and less stressed, even if he is “too tired to breathe” like he sometimes complains. And the ground rules help too, even if Twelve isn’t all that fond of them, but the last thing he wants is for Liam to start resenting him for being too demanding or for anything at all really so he follows them because it’s what Liam wants and relationships are supposed to be about compromise. Or at least that’s what he’s read and heard people talk about in all the rom-coms. Most of which he watched strictly for research. Maybe a little for recreational purposes. But as long as no one’s asking he’s not telling. Also, he likes rules. Maybe not _those_ in particular, but in general he does. Rules make things clear, especially in the sea of things he sometimes still finds so confusing. And he also might, maybe, kind of like it sometimes when Liam tells him what to do. But that’s neither here nor there.

The point is things have been really good between them and he knows it won’t always be, that it’s probably just because they’re in the “honeymoon period,” and despite what Liam reassures him he knows he’ll probably do a shit ton of things to mess it up along the way. But he wants to try to keep things good for as long as possible, so for now whatever he can do to make things easier and cause less tension he will.

“You’re up early,” Liam says walking out of the bathroom freshly showered and dressed for work.

“I wanted to make you breakfast,” Twelve says from the stove as he scoops out eggs and turkey bacon from the pans onto two plates along with toast. “Sorry,” he adds after he’s pushed the plates across the counter in front of their respective seats, glancing up at Liam a little bashfully. “The bacon’s a little burnt but in my defense it was my first time making it so.”

Liam shrugs, smiling brightly as he waltzes over and takes a seat. “That’s alright. Crispy bacon’s the best bacon.”

Twelve smiles, joining him around the counter a moment later.

For a while there’s nothing but the sound of forks scraping plates and the both of them chewing and then Liam suddenly stops, looking as if he’s deep in thought contemplating something.

“Is there curry in the eggs?”

Twelve freezes, immediately worried. He’d been experimenting but he thought it would taste good, hadn’t even thought about Liam possibly not liking it. _He_ ’d thought it tasted good when he’d taken a bite, but he’s honestly not sure how to gauge Liam’s expression right now.

“Yes?” he says slowly, wary. “I…I thought, um—is it not good?”

“It’s _amazing_. We’re definitely making all our eggs with curry from now on,” Liam says, biting into another huge forkful and closing his eyes like he’s savoring the taste.

“Oh,” Twelve breathes, letting out a little exhale of relief. “Okay, yeah, sure.”

“Maybe we should make a list of kitchen rules, too,” Liam muses. “Like the first one could be ‘in this house we only make our eggs with curry.’”

Twelve laughs. “Yeah, I could get behind that.”

“And…’person who starts the Food War has to do the dishes for the week.’”

Twelve squints, making a show of pretending to be in deep contemplation. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Okay, just for the night.”

“Better.”

“And no using their speedy powers to rush through the washing either.”

Another squint. “This feels personal.”

“It might be,” Liam says, smiling slyly before taking both of their now empty plates to the sink.

Twelve stares at his back as he moves, muscles under his shirt just barely visible through the material of his button-down. They flex and shift as he works, biceps and the backs of his shoulders going taught and relaxing as he shifts back and forth and Twelve’s mind drifts.

“I can practically feel you thinking inappropriate thoughts,” Liam says, not even bothering to turn around as he continues lathering and rinsing, the hint of a corner of a smirk just visible over his shoulder. “Save it for tonight, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” Twelve remarks, pressing a smile into the hand he’s leaning on.

“Shoot, I’ve gotta get going,” Liam says a moment later glancing down at his watch. He dashes over to press a kiss to Twelve’s temple which makes Twelve smile again and then he’s grabbing his things and heading for the door. “Text me more kitchen rule ideas, yeah?”

“You got it, dude.”

Liam snorts, pausing halfway through the doorway to raise a pair of eyebrows at him. “Someone’s been watching too many Full House reruns.”

“Shut up. Go to work,” Twelve says tossing a stray breadcrumb at him and smirking when it hits Liam squarely in the nose.

“Menace!” he calls and then he’s out the door, shutting it gently behind him with a soft click.

*

“Well, you’re certainly winning No Shave November,” Louis says to Twelve the moment he’s through the door.

“I just shaved this morning.”

“With what, a bladeless razor?”

“Fuck off,” Twelve says smiling and rolling his eyes. “I don’t like shaving it all the way, okay?”

Louis shrugs, breezing past him. “Whatever. Still winning. Take the win and be proud.”

Twelve rolls his eyes, sharing a look with Harry who glides in behind Louis.

“At least you’re actually in the competition,” Harry says a little morosely. “This peach fuzz is doing me no favors. And it’s endless fodder to that one to boot.” He nods his chin at Louis who’s already across the room, settling comfortably into the recliner.

“Easy targets, the lot of you. I can’t be blamed.” Louis sniffs, leaning back in the chair like he’s some sort of aristocrat expecting to be e waited on hand and foot.

“Well, the easy targets will be over here eating all the snacks while the diva suffers and starves in his throne,” Liam says from the counter where he’s pouring various kinds of junk food into bowls with Sarah and Niall’s help.

Louis sighs dramatically. “It’s so hard being the noble everyone envies, but I’m a man of the people and civic duty comes first so I suppose I can dine with the commoners just this once.”

Everyone rolls their eyes at this but no one says anything, all too used to his antics by now and content to just ignore it.

When Niall puts on some new Netflix show he’s been insisting they watch that they end up marathoning the first half of Twelve burrows into Liam’s side on the couch, curled up around him with Niall, Sarah, and Harry at their feet, and it’s a relief to not constantly have to hide anymore.

Later, when everyone—except Louis, predictably—is helping clean up, all of them crowded in the kitchen again, having already given the living room its own due cleaning sweep, Twelve hands Liam a stack of cups to be washed in the sink and is reminded of this morning before he left for work. The hint of a promise of _later_. Liam had changed out of his work clothes shortly before everyone came round and is now in joggers and a (very snug) fitted long-sleeve t-shirt that hugs all of his muscles, the sleeves rolled up so all of his forearm tattoos are on display, and Twelve is all too impatient for them to hurry up and finish cleaning so everyone can leave.

“Christ,” Louis says coming over to lean against the counter and swipe the last bit of popcorn from the bowl but not contributing to any of the actual cleaning going on, “is it just me or did it just get like five hundred degrees hotter in here? I can practically smell the sexual tension.”

“Yeah, I think we should probably go,” Harry says.

Louis nods sharply. “I think you're right, Young Harold.”

“Yeah, I think we’re about done here,” Niall adds, him and Sarah trying to edge their way discreetly towards the door, coats already in hand.

“Should’ve been done thirty minutes ago,” Twelve grumbles under his breath, handing Liam the last set of bowls and leaning back against the counter to watch him.*

“Wow. Someone is _thirsty_. Would you like some water with those dirty thoughts you're having?” Louis says, one eyebrow arched calculatingly.

“No, but I’d like for you to be gone now.”

“Sheesh, okay then,” Louis says, long and drawn out and mocking, both brows raised as he pulls on his coat. “As disgustingly adorable as you two are and as hot as I’m sure what’s about to happen in this kitchen would be to watch I have no desire to _actually_ watch you defile it so we’ll be on our way now. Have good sex. Bye.”

And then the four of them are rushing out the door and him and Liam are thankfully, _finally_ alone.

Twelve pushes himself off from the counter sauntering across the small space and wrapping his arms around Liam’s waist from behind, hands snaking under the hem of his shirt as he hooks his chin over Liam’s shoulder.

“Hi,” he mumbles against Liam’s neck.

“Hi,” Liam says with a low laugh, craning his neck a little to smile at Twelve over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to practically kick them out, you know.”

“I did.”

Another laugh. “Okay, you little horn dog, you, come here, then.” Liam swoops an arm back to pull Twelve around in front of him so he’s got Twelve boxed in up against sink, wrapping strong arms around his waist while Twelve surges forward to kiss him.

He takes advantage of the moment he’s got Liam distracted to sneak fingers down his side, edging in and curling over the curve of his waistband but Liam pulls away before he even has a chance to slip his fingers all the way inside, closing a hand over Twelve’s.

“Mmm, nope. I refuse to get my dick out in the same place I make food,” he says, letting go of Twelve’s hand to loop fingers into the belt loops of his jeans.

“Okay,” Twelve breathes against his lips, leaning in for another kiss, a little thrill running through him at Liam being so final about it, almost like an order for him to stop.

“Okay?” Liam says after, pulling back a little to look at Twelve with his brows scrunched. “Really? It’s that easy? I was expecting a little more of a fight.”

Twelve hums, leans in for another kiss and then pulls back again, biting at his own lip in hesitation before he says, “I was thinking about it earlier today and I was thinking…maybe we could have rules. Like…like how we have the kitchen rules now. But not like the ground rules. Like…” he blows out a breath through his nose, frustrated at not being able to feel like he’s explaining this properly.

“Like…sex rules?” Liam finishes for him. “Like what stuff we’re okay or not okay with?”

“Sort of, but like…more like stuff we…want specifically.”

Liam raises a brow at him. “Like a list of kink rules?”

“I…I don’t know…I guess. Does that mean the same thing?”

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, yeah. Maybe…maybe give me an example?”

“Um…well, I like it when you…you know, like, tell me what to do and stuff. Like, I like it in general but…also maybe for, like, sex and stuff…like maybe you could do that…more?”

Liam’s cheeks are a little flushed now when he looks at Twelve. “So, you…you’re saying you want me to, like, tell you what to do? Like in bed? But also sometimes out of bed, like just regular stuff?”

“Yeah, if that’s…if that’s okay.”

“Okay, um, yeah, I can—I can do that. What else?”

“Um…that’s it for now, but I might maybe think of other stuff later…and I was thinking you could add stuff too, so…maybe we could just leave it open like the kitchen list?”

“Okay, we can do that, too,” Liam agrees punctuating the statement with a kiss before tightening his grip around Twelve’s belt loops and guiding him back to the bedroom, pressing a line of kisses and quick little bites up his neck and over his jaw the whole way.

*

“You wanna go again already, don’t you?” Liam says minutes after he’s rolled onto his back, glancing over at Twelve with a slightly suspicious, slightly exasperated look on his face.

Twelve flashes him a sly smile, fingers tracing over the line of his bicep. “Maybe.”

Liam laughs. “ _Maybe_ ,” he repeats sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ve got your maybe. That’s Twelve-speak for absolutely one hundred percent yes. But it’s fine. Think I’m actually weirdly starting to get used to this two-in-a-row thing you’ve gotten me into. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”

“Are you saying I’ve spoiled you?” Twelve says, sly smile going just that bit wider.

“ _Maybe_ ,” Liam teases, sticking his tongue out.

A little later, when both of them have just been laying side by side in the quiet of the room for long minutes, listening to each other’s soft breaths, fingers twined together between them, Liam suddenly sits up, turning to him a bit abruptly as he leans up on his elbow.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft.

“Yeah?”

“Do you maybe wanna try it with you on top?”

Twelve knits his brows together as he looks over at Liam. “On top like how? Like me in you?”

“Oh, um, I mean, yeah, we could—we could do that too, if you want, but I meant like…like, um…like you…riding me.”

“Riding you?” Twelve repeats slowly, squinting in slight confusion. It takes a moment for him to puzzle it out in his head, trying to make sense of it and picture what Liam means and then, “ _Oh_.”

“’Oh’ good oh or bad oh?”

“Good oh.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Liam grins a little predatorily, leans over to take Twelve’s lips between his, slotting their legs together and curling firm fingers over his hips, pinning him to the mattress. Twelve hums, wrapping his legs around Liam’s waist and grinding their hips together and then Liam’s flipping them, strong hands holding him firmly in place as they shift and Liam settles on his back underneath him, Twelve’s legs bracketing his hips.

Liam reaches up briefly to slide the bottle of lube out from behind the pillows where they’ve been keeping it lately and coats his fingers with it before snaking his hand back down and around, tapping at Twelve’s thigh with his other hand to get him to sit up a little.

“Up,” he says, voice firm and Twelve shivers a little, biting at his lip as he shifts his weight forward, unable to help the little sound he lets out at the feel of Liam’s thick, slicked up fingers pushing into him. One and then two, right to that spot inside, sliding steadily back and forth, and he can’t keep himself up for very long after that, lets out a whimper and a shuddery breath, knees going weak underneath him. Falls back down onto his thighs over Liam’s waist, Liam’s hard cock right underneath him, the tip of it peaking out from underneath Twelve’s balls. The sight and the feel of it only makes him harder, cock already hard and leaking over Liam’s stomach, Liam letting out a groan of his own at the feel of Twelve’s weight pressing down on him over his own dick.

Liam suddenly pulls his fingers back a little, twisting and turning and stretching, slipping in a third before doing it all over again, opening Twelve up, and then he’s pushing all the way back in and curling his fingers up and Twelve’s bites down on a moan, grinding his hips down instinctively.

“Fuck,” Liam breathes, his other hand snapping up to grip at Twelve’s waist, sharp and sudden as he bucks his hips up under Twelve’s.

His fingers still inside Twelve for a moment and Twelve presses back, rolling his hips to get Liam’s fingers back to that spot. A moment later Liam starts moving again but now he’s pumping his fingers _and_ rolling his hips, dick gliding up against Twelve’s balls and the base of his cock and Twelve squeezes his eyes shut grinding down harder, can’t figure out whether he wants to push back or forward because it all feels too good.

Liam slides his fingers in and out to the same rhythm of their hips rolling together until they’re both slick with sweat, hard and leaking over each other, and then he’s pulling them out, slow and careful, helping Twelve lift up a little again to line himself up. Twelve whines a little, soft and bitten-off, when he feels the head of Liam’s dick nudging against him, pushing inside slow. He always pushes in _so_ _slow_ , and it’s torturous and amazing at the same time. But this time Twelve’s on top and he’s got more control, slides down the rest of the way when Liam’s still only halfway in, not moving fast enough for his liking, and grinds down onto Liam as soon as he’s fully inside.

“Fuck,” Liam groans again, gripping at Twelve’s hips as Twelve starts to move and up and down over him. Taking him in deep and then pulling himself up, almost all the way off, before sinking down again. “Look so beautiful like this,” Liam says reverently, eyes hooded as he stares up at Twelve.

Twelve bites his lip, smiling and blinking down at him a little bashfully. Lets out a harsh exhale and a surprised little sound when Liam suddenly tilts his hips up a little more, changing the angle slightly and pushing right up against that magical spot. Twelve lets out a whimper, grinding down hard again and then speeding up, breathing picking up with him, and Liam lets him for a little while. Rolls his hips up to meet Twelve’s and lets out soft little pants and grunts and then he’s gripping at Twelve’s hips again, stilling him.

“Slow down, babe. No rush, yeah?”

Twelve whines a little, despite the brief thrill that courses through him at the demand, but he moves a little slower when they pick up again, shivering and trying to bite down on his moans every time the head of Liam’s cock hits that spot inside.

Liam runs gentle hands up over his stomach and chest, fingers grazing his nipples and Twelve jerks a little in surprise. Hadn’t expected the little zing of pleasure that runs through him at the light touch. He’s biting his lip hard enough to hurt now trying to keep himself quiet, aborted little sounds making their way out anyway despite how he tries to reign them in, keep them low and soft.

“Hey, no,” Liam suddenly says, fingers running over his nipples again, down his chest and then back up, soothing. “Lemme hear you.”

Twelve looks down at him, his solemn eyes dark with arousal and chest flushed as he looks up at Twelve, managing to look somehow both sincere and extremely turned on at the same time and Twelve lets go of his lip from between his teeth. Lets out a slow breath and tries to keep himself from biting back again when another soft moan falls from his lips at the feel of Liam grinding up into him again even though it feels so natural to him to hold it back.

Most visitors had wanted him quiet, docile. Not that he’d been making any sounds of pleasure then, but anything hinting at the pain or discomfort they were in was not acceptable and could even warrant punishment if reported, unless the visitor was into that kind of thing.

But he doesn’t want to think about that now. Not when he’s got Liam underneath him, _inside_ him, like this, making him feel so incredibly amazing. When Liam pushes up again to meet his own thrust down he lets his lips fall open, lets out a half-breathless little moan and Liam smiles, pushing up into him a little harder as he guides Twelve’s hips down to meet him, match his new rhythm.

It’s not long before he’s reaching down a hand to wrap around Twelve’s cock and he’d already been so close—Liam always gets him so close without hardly even touching him—that he’s barely even gotten a hand around him before Twelve’s coming hard. Back bowing and eyes squeezing shut, hands on Liam’s stomach as he spills over Liam’s fingers, letting out a string of choked-off sounds because he can’t catch his breath. Liam fucks him right through it, Twelve clenching around him and then shivering from how good it feels as he starts to come back down.

“Fuck, so beautiful. Always so beautiful,” Liam murmurs as Twelve slumps forward against him, face pressed into his neck and breath shuddery from the way Liam’s still thrusting into him. He lets out tired little breathy moans into Liam’s neck, mouthing a little at the skin there as he’s rocked back and forth with the force of Liam’s thrusts three, four, five more times and then Liam’s filling him up, hot and wet. Groaning into his hair as he wraps an arm around Twelve’s waist to secure him there and rolls up into him hard, muscles taut and strung tight.

Twelve clenches weakly around him, lets out a weak whimper to match as Liam grinds into him a few more times, riding it out before he finally stills, going limp underneath Twelve but for his heaving chest.

“Mphf. M’so tired,” Twelve groans, turning his face to press a light kiss to Liam’s jaw and then closing his eyes, head pillowed against his chest.

“Yeah, it’s different when you’re the one doing all the work, isn’t it?” Liam says, huffing a laugh. “Now you see how _I_ feel, Mr. Horny Pants. Have I finally found a way to tire you out, then?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

Twelve reaches up to poke him in the cheek. And then whines and pouts when Liam eventually gets up to grab a flannel to clean them off with. The cloth is warm and soft though and he sighs contently as Liam wipes him down and tosses it somewhere near the hamper full of dirty clothes in the corner. Curls into Liam’s side, wrapping arms around him and snuggling his face into Liam’s neck when Liam finally lays back down beside him, turning out the lights and pulling the covers up over them.

*

“Hey. I just had an idea,” Liam says bouncing down on the bed next to Twelve early one morning and pecking a quick kiss to his lips.

Twelve smiles reaching up to wrap his arms around Liam’s neck immediately like it’s automatic. “Oh, yeah? What about?”

“About you. Naked. Getting yourself off while I watch. I thought maybe it’d be easier if we started out with you trying it _with_ me, like a show, so it maybe wouldn’t feel quite so weird for you. What do you think?”

Twelve hums, lips between his teeth. “Yeah…maybe. I think I’d be okay with that. Like trying it at least.”

Liam smiles, presses another quick kiss to his nose this time, Twelve giggling a little in response. “Okay, good. We’ll plan it for tonight then, yeah? That way you know when it’s coming and you can have some time to think about it and get used to the idea. Or change your mind if you want.”

“So considerate,” Twelve teases.

“Always,” Liam says, sticking his tongue out.

And when night comes around Liam’s already waiting. Laid back against the headboard in nothing but his pants reading, or at least pretending to read, when Twelve walks in from washing the dishes. He may or may not have started a brief food fight with Liam and some of the pasta while Liam was finishing up with cooking dinner—spaghetti with spicy turkey meatballs. It had been amazing but as per the new kitchen rules Twelve had been tasked with dish duty after, which is how Liam managed to beat him to bed.

He looks up when Twelve walks in now, smirking a little over the page he’s reading and Twelve’s not sure if it’s because of him getting put on dish duty or because of what’s about to come next. But it doesn’t matter because Liam’s dropping the book as soon as he sees Twelve coming over to his side of the bed, floorboard squeaking under Twelve’s feet as he hops up and goes to straddle Liam’s waist, tugging off his own shirt and dropping it to the floor.

He leans down for a kiss and Liam obliges, tilting his head up to meet him and wrapping hands around Twelve’s hips. When they break apart again Liam starts to tug down Twelve’s joggers—he’s not wearing any pants underneath, had wanted to be the maximum amount of prepared for this, or as prepared as he could be. He still feels a little nervous for some reason, half worried he won’t be able to go through with this once they really get started, but he’s trying not to focus too much on all the doubts and anxiety.

“Enjoy this while it lasts because it’s the last time I’ll be touching you for the rest of the night,” Liam says with a teasing smile, fingers flitting over Twelve’s hips and thighs as he tugs the joggers down, Twelve lifting up on his knees to help pull them the rest of the way off.

Liam sits up, hands on Twelve’s hips again leaning in for one last lingering kiss and then he’s pulling back, settling back against the headboard and looking up at Twelve with that same teasing smile.

Twelve’s half hard already just from Liam’s hands on him and seeing him laid out underneath him like this, looking so confident and sure on Twelve’s behalf. But still he hesitates, feeling the nerves and anxiety come bubbling up to the surface again now that it’s really happening.

“Want some help? Inspiration?” Liam says, hand drifting down to his own hard-on for emphasis and Twelve nods, biting his lip. Watches as Liam reaches down to tuck the waistband of his pants underneath his balls and stroke himself, slow and firm.

It’s almost hypnotizing, almost makes him forget what he’s supposed to be doing until Liam’s hand stills again.

“Your turn,” he says, pausing to jut his chin at Twelve, before he’s moving his hand again, up and down, up and down.

Twelve swallows, takes in a deep breath and then wraps a hand around himself, mirroring Liam’s movements, slow and steady and firm.

It feels strange. Good, but strange. Like it’s something he’s not supposed to be doing still. Like showering and brushing his teeth and shaving had felt all those months ago, but _more_ so. Way more. He’s tempted to rip his hand away, feels the urge like an itch under his skin, but he also wants to keep it there. It feels nice and he likes having Liam’s attention on him like this.

“Okay?” Liam says, gentle, hand still sliding steadily back and forth over himself.

Twelve lets out a shuddery breath in a mix of anxiety and arousal, nods.

He can do this. He just needs to focus on the feeling and on Liam and not on all the toxic thoughts trying to force their way to the front of his mind.

He closes his eyes, trying to block out everything else but the feeling and the sound of Liam’s soft breaths, his slightly elevated but steady heartbeat. But closing his eyes is a mistake because the second he does he sees a flash of a memory behind his eyelids. The two operatives laying on matching operating tables, mutilated and bloody, screaming in agony.

He’s ripping his hand away and scrambling off the bed before he even knows what’s happening, finds himself hunched over the toilet retching up everything they had for dinner.

Liam’s behind him a moment later, running soothing hands over Twelve’s back and holding his hair back from his face as he heaves and gags and coughs up everything in his stomach, shaking and sweaty and weak. When he’s done, stomach empty and breath stale, he drops back down to his haunches curling up in on himself, knees to his chest.

“M’sorry,” he rasps miserably, throat raw and cheeks wet. Liam wraps himself around him, pressing warm lips to his temple and cheek.

“S’alright, I’ve got you. Nothing to be sorry about. You’re okay. You’re safe,” Liam mumbles against his skin, fingers running over his arm and through his hair, pulling the last few stray sweaty strands back from his face.

“I shouldn’t have closed my eyes,” he mumbles after a while, burrowing the side of his face into Liam’s shoulder.

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have forced you, or made you feel like you had to.”

Twelve shakes his head. “You didn’t. I _wanted_ to. And I do want to try again, just…maybe not for a little while. I don’t want to let them ruin this. I don’t want to let them control me anymore. I want to be able to do everything that…normal people do. That I used to be able to do. Not just with sex, but other stuff too. I just want to be back to normal. Or as close as I can get.”

“You will be. You’ve already come _so_ _far_. Just…give it a bit more time.”

“Fuckin’ time…always fuckin’ time,” he mutters a little sarcastically. “I feel like that Judge Judy meme. I wish time would just hurry up and get here already.”

Liam snorts, dissolving into full blown giggles a moment later. “Sorry, it’s just…” he says, still laughing, “I just imagined your annoyed face over the Judge Judy meme and now I can’t get it out of my head.”

Twelve takes a moment to picture that himself and then he’s laughing too, only spurred on even more by the realization that the two of them are sitting here naked and giggling on the bathroom floor like a scene out of some weird indie movie.

“Can we go back to bed now?” he says between lingering stray giggles a little later, wiping his cheeks for a completely different reason now. “My arse is getting cold and my foot’s asleep.”

“Yes. Bed. That sounds magical. This tile floor is definitely not doing my bits any favors as far as comfort goes.”

“You should get a rug.”

“That I should.” Liam nods, lifting him to his feet. “I’ll add it to the list of things for the flat I _should_ get but probably will never get around to doing. Like that airbed I was supposed to get for you eighty seven years ago. And foldout chairs for the living room. And a new coffee table that doesn’t wobble.”

“You know, there’s a thing called the internet that’ll magically deliver that all right to your mailbox,” Twelve teases, falling into bed and pulling Liam down beside him, tugging the sheets over them and snuggling closer.

“Is there? I’ll have to look into that, see what this internet thing’s all about. Do they have a phone number I can call for assistance?”

“I don’t know. Don’t know much about it, you’ll have to ask the Google.”

“Mmm. Alright, I’ll get right on that,” he says, flicking out the lamp and curling an arm around Twelve’s shoulders, pressing one last kiss to his temple before he’s relaxing against him, both of them drifting off to sleep.

*

“Liam!” Twelve calls from the bathroom days later.

“Yeah?” comes Liam’s distant reply from out in the living room.

“Can you come here? I need your help with something.”

Liam comes sauntering through the doorway a moment later, pushing the door open with a slightly worried look on his face, and then stops halfway through, brows knit in confusion.

“What are you—are you…taking a bath?”

“Come help,” Twelve says, chin resting on his arms over the side of the tub as he blinks up at Liam owlishly.

“I—what?”

“Quick before the water gets cold.” He reaches over to swirl a hand in the warm water and then flicks a few droplets up at Liam with a small smile.

“You’re serious?” Liam says, one brow raised now and a smile of his own playing at his lips.

Twelve nods, flicking more water at him.

Liam chuckles to himself, shaking his head but he starts to get undressed anyway. Leaves his clothes in a pile next to Twelve’s and steps in.

Twelve immediately starts a splash fight the moment Liam’s sat down, Liam spluttering and desperately trying to dodge and block the splashes of water with his arms.

“Hey!” he yells, keeping one arm up to block his face as he starts aiming rapid-fire splashes back at Twelve with the other. “Cheater!”

Twelve sticks his tongue out, gathering a mass of bubbles in his hands and blowing them at Liam with a giggle.

“Clearly you want me to go blind,” Liam intones.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Twelve says with a grin. “That was the plan all along. Keep up.”

He blows more bubbles in Liam’s direction, laughing at Liam’s attempts to blow them right back before they can float their way all the way over to him.

“Okay, you want a war? I’ll give you a war,” Liam announces, reaching for the shampoo and squirting a generous amount into his hand before he’s darting forward towards Twelve.

Twelve could duck or side-dodge, but he doesn’t. Lets Liam attack his hair and face with his soapy hands until he’s got a ridiculously tall shampoo-stiffened mohawk and a beard made of sudsy bubbles.

Liam’s laughing as he pleads for him not to move, reaching over the side of the tub for his phone in his trouser pocket so he can snap a picture. He ends up taking about ten, some of them from different angles, others with Twelve making different goofy faces, before the mohawk starts to list and droop to the side from the weight of Twelve’s hair. He can feel the soap dripping onto his shoulder and sliding down his neck and he squints his eyes, trying to keep it from dripping into them but Liam only laughs harder, snapping even more pictures.

“You look like a wet cat,” he snickers, snapping away. “Like one of those ones that hates water and looks pissed that he just had to sit through a bath.” More snaps. “Okay, sorry, sorry, I’m done, I promise, you can rinse it off now.”

Twelve squints an eye open to check that Liam really is done taking pictures and then scoots down to dunk his head under the warm water, running his hands over as he comes back up to make sure all the shampoo’s all the way rinsed out.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk grabbing for the bottle and treating Liam to the same—though with a much shorter mohawk—snatching Liam’s phone out of his hands to snap more pictures when he’s done.

He takes probably twice the amount of pictures Liam did, and then adds a few selfies and even some couples selfies for good measure once Liam’s rinsed off before he’s tossing Liam’s phone back on top of the pile of the clothes.

“Hey, careful with that, that cost nearly half my rent,” Liam says with an exaggerated pout.

Twelve raises his eyebrows. “Oh, I’m sorry, is my perfect aim on top of the giant pile of soft clothes not good enough for you?”

“Nope. Think I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson about being more careful,” Liam counters, leaning forward so their foreheads are touching.

“I’m waiting.”

“Mmm. Looks like I might have to teach you patience, too.” He taps fingers to Twelve’s lips like a reprimand. Surges forward to nip at Twelve lips and then he’s wrapping hands around Twelve’s waist and leaning over him, guiding him down till his head’s resting against the end of the tub, jokingly mumbling for him lie back and think of England.

Twelve snorts and giggles, but quickly shuts right up as Liam runs fingers down his chest and over his dick teasingly, back and forth and back and forth, sucks bruises into his neck and shoulders and jaw. Teases him for what feels like hours until Twelve’s shaking and desperate underneath him, even though he knows in some more logical part of his brain—the part that’s not thinking with his dick—that it hasn’t been nearly that long because the water isn’t even all the way cold yet though it’s getting there, still lukewarm for now.

When Liam finally wraps a hand around him and starts to wank him properly Twelve moans, bucking his hips up into Liam’s hand and clenching his thighs against the sides of Liam’s hips. After a few minutes Liam slides up, lining his own dick up with Twelve’s and wrapping a hand around them both, pumping slow and hard, still teasing. But Twelve’s already so close it doesn’t take much more than a few strokes before he’s coming into Liam’s hand and against his hard cock under the water, toes curling against the bottom of the tub as he tucks his face into Liam’s neck and grips at the side of the tub for purchase. Liam follows him over the edge moments later, moaning into Twelve’s mouth as Liam kisses him, open-mouthed and messy.

Afterwards, after they’ve laid together in the now-cold water for a bit catching their breaths, Liam drains all the water and fills it back up with fresh, warm water and more bubbles. Washing himself and Twelve down quick and efficient.

“Like old times, eh?” Twelve teases, grinning.

“Much nicer,” Liam says, leaning back against the back of the tub with open arms and beckoning for Twelve to scoot back into him. Twelve does, leaning back into Liam’s warm embrace, relaxed and warm and sated, letting out a soft little happy sigh when Liam wraps strong arms around him, craning his neck forward to kiss Twelve’s cheek before leaning back again.

He wishes they could end everyday like this. But for now he’ll take what he can get.

*

They’re lying in bed late one morning, tangled up together in a mess of sheets, Liam leaned up on an elbow half over him, tracing lazily and languidly over the scars on his chest when he suddenly says, soft, “Will you tell me about them?”

“What?” Twelve says, momentarily confused before he looks down to find Liam still idly tracing the raised lines, realization dawning, and he shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t really want to know.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I _do_.”

“You _don’t_.”

“Why not?”

Twelve sighs. “They’re not nice stories, Liam. I…remember every single one and they’re not nice stories.”

“I _know_ that. But I want to know anyway. I want to know about all of them. I mean, I know a little…from the journals and stuff, but…I want to know more about them, about _you_. You don’t have to tell me if—if it’s too much. I don’t want you to feel like you’re reliving it or anything or make you feel like you _have_ to tell me, but I do want to know…if you’re okay with talking about it.”

Twelve sighs again. “It’s not that. I don’t mind talking about it, it’s just, these aren’t happy-go-lucky bedtime stories, you know? I don’t want to be the one giving _you_ nightmares.”

“I know they’re not…and anyway it’s not even bedtime,” he jokes, flashing Twelve a quick smile before he’s back to being serious again. “But I still want to know. I don’t want you to feel like you always have to keep everything bottled up all the time. I mean, I know you still have the journals and stuff but…you can talk to me, too. Maybe not about everything, especially if it’s stuff you feel more comfortable talking to someone else like Danny or Sarah about, but about some stuff. We’re a team, right? So, let me share the burden. Help me understand where you’re coming from and what’s going on in there sometimes.” He taps at Twelve’s forehead, right in the middle, and Twelve huffs out a breathy chuckle.

“Alright, alright, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Noted. I have been warned. Thrice over.”

Twelve rolls his eyes, but reaches down to run his fingers affectionately through Liam’s hair while Liam drops his chin down to his arms over the bottom of Twelve’s sternum. “What do you wanna know?”

“Tell me about…this one,” he says, walking his fingers up the middle of Twelve’s chest to land on a spot to the left side of his upper sternum and running his fingers over the long, precise line there.

“Punishment,” he says simply before taking a deep breath, preparing himself to explain. “I disobeyed a direct order. I was supposed to ‘secure’ the other operative I was sparring with, ‘subdue’ him. Knock him out, in plain terms. But you know firsthand how that goes. Our methods of ‘subduing’ aren’t generally the cleanest, it’s pretty much just whatever it takes to get them out cold. Most of the time when someone would give an order to ‘secure’ someone they meant ‘subdue’ unless they explicitly stated otherwise. Technically though there’s ‘silencing’ _and_ ‘subduing.’ Silencing is the nice version, where you just kind of quietly choke them out till they pass out, stop just short of killing them. But subduing can get messy, violent, you basically just do whatever you have to, to get them out. Anyway the operative they put me up against was small, one of the youngest ones I think, and I’d seen how he fought. He wasn’t the best fighter—definitely not better than me, even at that point when I was still early on in my training—but he was determined. The kind that wouldn’t go down easy. Scrappy little thing, you know? He’d keep fighting even after it was clear he’d already lost, until one of the Handlers or the Director himself had to call it.

“So they put me up against him, I think more as a learning experience for him than for me, and it was pretty clear I was winning even from pretty early on so after a little while they told me to ‘subdue him’ and I don’t know why but I just wouldn’t. He just looked so small I guess and I knew it would get bloody and I couldn’t reconcile it in my head at the time, why something about it bothered me or didn’t seem right, but I just kept picturing his small frame laying bruised and broken on the mat, his little face all battered and bloody staring up at me, all while the Handlers were shouting in my ear to subdue him and to follow orders and do my duty, screaming about how I was being insubordinate and I just stood there. Got sent to the Discipline Rooms pretty quick of course after that and that’s where the Doctor sliced me open right here.” He points to the thin, raised line, tracing over it from top to bottom with his fingers as he recalls the memory of it. “Poured salt inside and sewed it right back up, watched me lay there screaming and thrashing on the table where he’d strapped me down, just looking at me like a little kid watching a bug struggling to flip over. Like I was some endlessly fascinating specimen instead of a child.

“Things are different when you’re on the table though. When you’re strapped down you can scream and fight as much you want but once you’re out you’re expected to go back to business as usual and they won’t let you go till you’ve settled down. So once I finally managed to get myself to stop screaming he let me go. But it felt like I had a lit match inside me that never went out. I felt it for weeks, just this endless, relentless, excruciating burn that only got worse every time I moved or breathed—and I don’t even know if after a certain point I was actually still in any real physical pain or if it was just a lingering, phantom pain that carried over after it had started to heal—but either way I still had training and missions and I knew if I was caught showing any kind of reaction I would only be punished _more_ so I just tried my best to ignore it and not show it as much as I could and just kept going until I didn’t feel it anymore.”

“What about…this one?” Liam asks, tracing a finger over the two crisscrossed, jagged lines near his collarbone.

“That one’s a slightly less gruesome story. Got in a fight with a target. A runner for some Chinese gang. Errand boy basically, but the leader of the gang he worked for had some info on an op that some former military official who’d landed a high-up position in the government was a part of years ago. Something top-secret I think. No idea why this military op was so important or how the gang leader got the info in the first place but orders were to keep everything clean on our end, make it look like just another gang fight if it came to that so this military guy wouldn’t catch wind of it or get suspicious, realize we were looking into it. The gang leader with the info was a hard man to get to though even for us, so we had to work our way up from the bottom first, hence the errand boy. He was _my_ assignment. Two other operatives went on the op with me but they had different targets, other low-tier members to get info out of, make sure it all matched up so we could be sure we were being told the right thing and not just being fed false leads.

“We’d been crash-course trained in street fighting, typical gang-type stuff, imprecise slash wounds and slightly-off-the-mark punches and kicks to make it all look authentic so we didn’t raise any red flags. It was kind of like unlearning all the precise training we’d had up to then and we went in expecting that if a fight broke out we’d be using the street-style methods to handle it. I don’t know about the other operatives cause they were in different parts of the building, but the errand boy turned out to be some kind of, like, martial arts expert or something and the street-method fighting nearly got me my arse kicked. I didn’t want to disobey my orders but I knew if I didn’t switch back to my usual way of fighting I’d probably be dead in a matter of minutes so I did what I had to do and it was pretty clear I surprised the hell out of him. With the way I was fighting at first I think he’d assumed I was just another street kid or someone from a rival gang or something so when I switched up he got a bit thrown off and panicked when he realized he might lose and the next thing I knew he was pulling a knife on me. Well, not really a knife. I’m not actually sure what it was, think it might’ve been some sort of sharpened tool of some sort but anyway he got in a couple good swipes right here near my clavicle, got me pretty deep.

“Still managed to eventually get the information I needed out of him,” he says though he doesn’t mention to Liam how many broken bones and hours of torture it took to get it, what it felt like to snap the man’s bones under his hands and hear his desperate screams echo through the empty underground garage they were in. He thinks it’s better he keep that part to himself. “But by the time I was done, I’d lost so much blood I passed out. I don’t know how the other operatives got me back to the truck without drawing attention to us since I was basically covered in blood by that point but when I woke up I was being carried from the truck back into the bunker. The Doctor stitched me up and they sent me right back out on another mission the next day.”

“That’s what you call _less_ gruesome?” Liam says with a slightly bewildered look on his face.

Twelve shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess mission stuff to me just feels more run-of-the-mill. Less like plain old torture, you know? You go out on a mission, you expect to get hurt. People are gonna try to stab you, shoot you, hit you, whatever. You know it’s coming, even if it gets bloody. It’s the stuff that happens while you’re supposed to be ‘off duty’ I guess you could call it, that you don’t expect. People sitting there watching you bleed and cry and scream your lungs out just because you didn’t do something exactly how they told you to do it…I don’t know that just seems more gruesome to me. At least in a fight there’s a concrete _reason_ behind it, something you can grasp onto and understand. With the punishments it was always more just…because they could. Or at least that was how it felt.”

Liam nods solemnly in understanding. “I guess that makes sense. I hadn’t thought about it that way, but yeah, when you put it like that it does seem more gruesome.” He sighs, running his fingers over the first scar again, the one down by the left side of his sternum. “Wherever they are, when they die I hope they all die horribly painful deaths.”

“Amen to that.”

“Tell me about this one,” he says, pointing to one down near his navel, a small splotchy circular one about the size of a button.

“That one’s a much shorter story. Got sent after a female target. They wouldn’t tell me anything about her but from the house she was living in and the car she was driving I’d guess she was maybe the wife or daughter of some high-up government or military officer. Definitely not military herself from the way she fought and how little attention she paid to her surroundings and she didn’t seem like the typical kind of woman you find in government positions though I guess she still could’ve been. But anyway I caught her in her car just as she was about to pull out of her garage. She pepper sprayed me, which I wasn’t expecting. Had a little bottle on her car keychain that I didn’t catch cause I’d never seen one before then and hadn’t been trained for it. And in the few moments I was distracted she managed to pull a handgun out of her purse. Tiny thing, but it hurt like a bitch when she shot me. She was too scared to aim at my face I think, especially cause I was still pretty young then and even with the muzzle on I think she could tell, so she caught me here instead.” He points to the scar, fingers tracing faintly around the edges. “It was my first time being shot so I didn’t know what to expect, slowed me down a bit, messed with my focus and she tried to fight me off and held her own for a little while but ultimately I still had the advantage with my strength and heightened reflexes. It was my first major challenge, especially cause it was supposed to be a relatively easy mission and it turned out to be a lot harder than I thought but I definitely learned a lot about all the things that can go wrong, how to anticipate stuff, and think on my feet.”

Again he leaves out the bit about how he eventually shot her with her own gun. Made it look like a suicide and left her there, brains and blood splattered all over the windshield and the driver’s side window, dripping over the seat and her pristine clothes. Her lifeless body slumped against the inside of the door, dead eyes staring out into nothing. He’d been told to use his own program-issued gun and leave it there, probably because whoever gathered the intel for the mission didn’t know she already had one of her own. But in the moment he’d figured it was better to use hers so it wouldn’t look suspicious that she’d be sitting there with two guns. And also because it seemed more believable that the small gun she had would be something she’d be more likely to buy and use given her size and the kind of person she seemed to be, more so than the nine millimeter he’d brought with him. But none of that is important to the question of the scar and anyway Liam doesn’t need to know any of it. The less details he knows about the awful things Twelve’s done, the better. And besides, he _had_ said for Twelve to only share what he was comfortable with, so that what he’s doing. Technically.

“What about this one here?” Liam asks pointing to another down by his hip, right above the junction between his abdomen and hipbone.

“Visitor. She had a thing for something called ‘blood play,’ always brought knives to her sessions. Most of the ones on my back are from her. Anyway she cut too deep once and they had to rush me to the one of the lower Doctors cause the main one was busy. Pretty sure someone yelled her out for not being careful enough or something. I’m not sure who it was cause I was only half-conscious at the time but she stopped coming so much after that cause they upped her charge. She complained to me about it a couple times after, threatened to stop coming and cut off her support, and I guess she finally went through with it cause eventually she stopped coming altogether. Or at least she stopped coming to see _me_. I guess she could’ve just switched to another operative but I never saw her around after that even in passing, though that doesn’t necessarily mean anything either.”

He shrugs nonchalantly and Liam moves on to another. On and on until he eventually gets to the tattoos, running his fingers over the inked in marks on the back of Twelve’s neck with one hand—over the roman numerals and the small tallies—and down to each of his forearms with the other—the larger set of tallies on Twelve’s left arm, the barcode on his right.

“And these?” he says, tapping at Twelve’s neck with gentle fingers.

“The roman numerals represent my designation. XII—the number twelve. And the tallies are for each official rank I passed.”

“Official? Does that mean there were…unofficial ranks?”

“Yep.”

“So _officially_ you got to rank ten out of…?”

“Ten.”

Liam raises his eyebrows. “And…unofficially?”

“Fifteen.”

“Out of?”

“Fifteen.”

Liam eyebrows go even higher. “Is it weird that I find you being like…the top assassin a little bit hot?”

Twelve laughs. “Probably. But in all honesty I don’t even know that I _was_ the top. It’s not like we had unbridled access to listings on the other operatives’ ranks. I’ve got no idea how many other operatives from my team might have been at the same level I was, officially or unofficially. I don’t even think Danny had access to that kind of info. As far as I know I think even the Handlers only knew the ranks of the operatives assigned to them, but I could be wrong.”

“Well, I’m still choosing to believe you’re the top.”

“That’s kind of messed up,” Twelve says, smiling. “But thanks, I guess?”

“It’s fine. We’ll just be messed up together,” he says he says with a small teasing smile before glancing back down at Twelve’s arms and tapping at the one still underneath his fingers, the left one. “Tell me about these.”

“One tally for each year in the program,” he explains jutting his chin to the left, to the two sets of five there. “Would’ve been eleven but I guess I never quite made it to the end of the year ceremony,” he says wryly, turning to his right arm and lifting it a little for emphasis so the barcode is in plain view. “ID for scanning. They were a bit meticulous about records, which is kind of ironic now when I think about it given how secretive they were when it came to the wider public, but pretty much any new information that went into their system—rank update, mission outcome, kill rate, changes in height or weight, any general information about us or our mission activity—was checked against this barcode. Had to make sure they were putting in the right info for the right operative I guess, easier to keep track of that way I reckon.

“Got it inked shortly after I first woke up, scanned me into the system, and from then on out any update involving me got noted in the computer under my ID. Completed a mission successfully? Scanned and processed, typed up into my file. Grew an inch since my last medical check-up? Gained a couple pounds? Same thing. Moved up a rank? Scanned and noted. Completed a mission successfully aka killed someone or got the necessary info out of them? Noted. Mastered a new language? Moved up to a new team? Got assigned to a new Handler? Check. Check. Check. All in my file. Though I guess most of that’s probably long gone by now. At least according to what Danny said. Said he saw them destroying the servers when they shut everything down so I doubt any of it even exists anymore now. S’kinda weird to think about now though, you know? Ten years of my life destroyed in a matter of minutes. The only record of me and…my existence from the last decade, gone. Not that I’d want it obviously—don’t exactly need that floating around—but still it’s just weird I guess, thinking about it now. S’almost like I don’t exist. But then again I guess that’s what they wanted.”

“You exist,” Liam says, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest and then grinning goofily up at him. “Either that or I’ve been having sex with a very realistic-feeling ghost.”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” Twelve says with a smirk. “This ghost has been giving you some great sex.”

“That he has. And he eats all my food, too.”

“What can I say, I’m a growing ghost.”

“And a very sexy one,” Liam teases with a smirk.

Later, when he’s pressing gentle kisses over each and every scar and tattoo on Twelve’s skin that his lips can reach Twelve hums and sighs contentedly feeling the love in every single press of Liam’s lips seeping into his skin, down into his bones, filling him up until he feels weightless with it.

*

Twelve’s been doing a lot of thinking lately and he thinks he’s finally ready.

He’s finally ready to take that last step toward reconciling all the parts of himself and shedding this _thing_ , this identity they forced onto him, made him into. Letting go of the ugly visage they made him take on was only the first part of it. Growing his hair out and always leaving just enough stubble on his jaw so that he’s not got that annoyingly neat crew-cut, fresh-shaven look they liked on him so much anymore, but not enough that he looks like a caveman or can’t see the line of his jaw, had only been part of it. But if he’s going to move on, as in _truly_ move on, he needs let it _all_ go. He can’t keep living in this shadow for the rest of his life with the constant reminder hanging over his head every time someone so much as utters his name, caught up in this limbo where he’s half in and half out of one identity or the other, stuck in this weird perpetual confused state like he can’t make up his mind _who_ he wants to be.

And when he thinks about it now, _really_ thinks about it, he doesn’t even really feel like that person, or thing rather, anymore. That name, that identity, was born from a time and for a version of himself that didn’t know who he was. That had not even a name but a designation, a number assigned to him, because he’d had his real identity erased so thoroughly he didn’t even see himself as a person deserving of an actual proper name. Didn’t know what it meant to love or laugh or trust or be happy or even just _be_ without killing, without following orders or having other people’s fucked up thoughts and beliefs about himself and what he was good for injected in his head and ingrained so deeply in him he didn’t dare think anything else.

But he’s not that thing anymore. He’s a person, an individual with his own thoughts and beliefs and desires and most importantly, memories, and the longer he lets this name, this _designation_ , latch itself onto this new, or maybe old, person he’s becoming and linger on like the constant reminder it is of that thing he used to be, he won’t ever be able to let go. He still feels that part of him within him—the operative, alongside The Boy—probably always will, but it’s like it’s smaller now somehow, has less power in his life and in his thoughts. Like it’s been banished to the recesses of his mind and locked away only for the times when he might need the skills, the memories, for whatever reason.

He knows he’ll probably never fully be able to put it all past him, that there are certain things that will probably haunt him for the rest of his life—the nightmares, all the people he’s killed, those few forgotten memories he might never get back, though he’s still remembering more and more everyday—but those are all the things he can’t change. _This_ he can. _This_ he finally has a say in.

And that’s what he explains to Liam in the quiet of the afternoon on a chilly November day, both of them wrapped up together in a blanket on the couch, telly droning on at a low volume in the background.

“Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh.”

A gentle shove to Liam’s shoulder. “Shut up...this is important.”

“Okay, okay, I’m listening. Serious listening face on.”

“Arsehole. But anyway…I’ve been thinking about it a lot…and I realized I’ll probably never really feel completely like Zayn again because I’m different now, but…I don’t really feel like Twelve anymore either, if that makes sense. Like, when I think about it, Twelve was someone who didn’t really know he was, you know? He was an operative without a proper name who thought his only purpose in life was to serve others and didn’t even see himself as a person. But I’m not him anymore. I may not remember _everything_ —or not yet anyway—but I remember enough. Enough to know that I had a name and a life and all these people who loved me and cared for me and all these memories and experiences that made up who I was and that I’m my own person and not just a thing to be ordered around—well except maybe when you do it.” He pauses briefly to smirk teasingly at Liam who grins slyly right back. “…but that’s different. I don’t know if I’ll ever really feel like _me_ again but I know that I want to get there and I don’t want to feel like Twelve—or like that part of me that felt like he was nothing and no one and had no real identity—is holding me back. I don’t want to be that anymore. I don’t even feel like I am, haven’t for a while now, and I know you’re always telling me I’m more like him than ever but I didn’t really _feel_ it myself until now, you know? So…I guess what I’m saying is… I think I’d be okay with you all calling me Zayn again. If it’s not too weird now that you’ve all gotten used to calling me Twelve, that is.”

Liam smiles, bright as the sun, as he leans in to bump their noses together, whispers against his lips, “Yeah? Really?”

“Really.” Twelve nods.

“Okay, then… _Zayn_. Zayn, Zayn, Zayn, Zayn, Zayn.”

“Okay, don’t overdo it before it even starts,” he groans, shoving a little at Liam’s shoulder playfully, but he’s grinning too, loving the sound of it in Liam’s mouth and how concrete it feels. Significant but also somehow not. New, but old. Different, but the same. _Him_.

*

“Twel—Eleven—One—Fifty-Two—ugh, you know who I’m talking to. _Zayn_ ,” Louis calls for the third time that morning. It’s his weird roundabout way of trying to get acclimated, get used to calling him Zayn instead of Twelve. But when he can’t remember fast enough he just starts calling random numbers. Usually finds some way to throw the number Eleven in there because they recently binge-watched that show Stranger Things and it’s become a bit of a running joke, how much him and Eleven are alike. Not just with the number-name thing but with the superhuman powers and the secret government program and the lack of social skills and a bunch of other things—stealing children, torturing children, using them for their own gain in a war they shouldn’t have anything to do with, evil doctors, shaved heads, and forced participation in cruel experiments, just to name a few. Zayn secretly suspects someone behind the show might know something about the program and used what they knew for inspiration because the amount of similarities is a bit much, even in his opinion. Then again it could all just be coincidence. But if it is, it sure is a hell of a lot of coincidences.

“Do you have to call out the entire list of numbers from one to infinity every single time?” Liam says with a roll of his eyes from where he’s making them all tea in the kitchen.

Louis waves a hand at him dismissively from his spot on the living room floor. “Well, sorry we can’t all be magically immediately accustomed to this name-switching thing like you. Unlike you and his family, the rest of us only knew him as Twelve till now so it’s kind of extra weird for us trying to get used to calling him Zayn after a year and a half of calling him Twelve.”

“Yeah, but the rest of us aren’t calling out every number in existence every time we wanna get his attention,” Harry points out from the couch.

Zayn sighs. “What did you even want, Louis?” he says coming around the counter where’d been helping Liam with the tea.

“I’m bored. Entertain me with one of your superhuman power things.”

Zayn squints at him. “I’m not a clown. Or a magician for that matter, I can’t just pull a balloon out of my arse or something to entertain you.”

“That actually would be a really interesting trick,” Louis muses, looking away a moment as if he’s seriously contemplating it before flicking his gaze back to Zayn. “But whatever. So, juggle some knives or something. Sit Sarah and Niall on your shoulders, I don’t care. Just do something so we’re not all sitting here staring at the walls and twiddling our thumbs.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, refraining from pointing out that there’s a television right behind him, a phone in his pocket, and three other people for him to talk to. He’s long since learned it’s best not to argue with Louis. Not because he doesn’t think he would win but because Louis’ whims and ideas are generally not based on any kind of logic or reason and arguing a point with him will likely only lead you in a circle or get you absolutely nowhere. Or at least nowhere that makes sense anyway.

He glances around the flat a moment, taking in everything around and trying to figure out what he can do on such short notice. He grabs the telly remote from the coffee table pushed off to the side of the living room and the bottle of syrup from the kitchen counter they’d used on their waffles this morning that never got put away—it’d been one of those stay-over nights where they all slept over and then ate all of Liam’s remaining food for breakfast—and hops up to stand on the back of the couch.

Harry scoots forward warily, turning his whole body half around to watch, Sarah, Niall, and Louis craning their necks up at him from the floor as he walks across the entire line of the couch-back with ease and then throws both the remote and the bottle of syrup up into the air, vaulting off the edge in a flip. He lands perfectly centered on his feet a few inches away catching the remote and the syrup in both hands just in time and raising his brows at Louis in a question.

“Satisfied?”

Louis doesn’t answer. Is still staring up at him with wide blue eyes, unmoving, shocked into silence. Zayn looks around the room only to find identical looks of surprise on everyone’s faces. Even Liam is frozen at the stove, mouth half open and half-filled mugs of tea forgotten in front of him.

“That,” Niall suddenly says, “…was _amazing_.”

Sarah nods her agreement beside him, still looking a little dazed.

“What _else_ have you been holding out on us?” Louis finally pipes up.

Zayn shrugs. He hadn’t expected for them all to be so awestruck by this seeing as it was just a flip. Lots of people can do flips. And catch stuff. It’s not like it was anything special, he’d mostly just been trying to shut Louis up. But if they’re this impressed by a simple flip he guesses there’s a hell of a lot more he can show them that he might not think is a big deal but they might.

“Could go down to the park some time and show you a lot more if you want,” he says.

“Yes, we want,” Louis says.

“We definitely want,” Sarah agrees with another emphatic nod.

“It’s a group date,” Harry says and Zayn laughs, nodding his agreement once he sees Liam grinning excitedly.

They all hang around for most of the rest of the day, rotating spots around the floor and the couch, snacking and talking and playing random games Louis’ made up on the fly. By the time the sun is starting to set Zayn’s splayed out on the couch between Liam and Louis, resting against Liam’s side, last rays of sunlight filtering in through the window and streaking the room in dim light.

Louis’ got a pen and is drawing random doodles on any parts of Zayn he can reach—his arms, his shoulder, his ankles—something he’s taken to doing quite a lot lately, often while griping about how “disgustingly adorable” him and Liam are like he is right now while Zayn and Liam studiously ignore him. And Zayn stares at each of the doodles he finishes, some of them matching Louis’ own tattoos and others completely random and original. Stares at the little stick figures, the tic-tac-toe board, random words—some in bubble letters, some in comic book style, some normal—a rudimentary snake, a skull, crossed fingers, a set of what he’s pretty sure are supposed to be palm trees, and more, and thinks. Thinks about how before now his body hadn’t really been his own for so long. Hadn’t existed to serve a purpose greater than fulfilling the orders, the wishes, the needs, the desires of someone else. But there’s something about the drawings. Something about seeing them there on his skin, impermanent as they are and in stark contrast to the tattoos _they_ gave him, that makes him feel the truth of it. He could wipe them off or he could leave them (often does). And it’s _his_ choice. There’s no one around to take that away from him now, to keep him from doing what he wants to do or being who he wants to be, being _with_ who he wants to be even.

Choice, still such a strange thing for him to have and yet he does. It wasn’t so long ago that he would’ve found that too overwhelming. Sometimes still does on occasion. Takes solace in Liam making some of those choices for him, taking some of the confusion and anxiety away, guiding him, telling him what to do. But most of the time now he finds it doesn’t unsettle him nearly as much. It’s funny, he spent so many years believing he was incapable of making one. That it wasn’t even in his place to entertain the thought, and yet here he is. Making decisions on his own everyday. Big ones and little ones.

Eggs or cereal. Jam or butter. Colored pencils or charcoal. Good-bye hug or good-bye kiss—the answer’s a kiss, always a kiss. White shirt or red, or grey or blue or green—never black, not anymore, except maybe hoodies. Hot shower or cold—he doesn’t mind either, remembers a time when he hardly even noticed the difference though that’s not so much the case anymore, now it really just depends on his mood. Beard or no beard—definitely beard. Cut his hair or leave it long—long, always long, though he could probably use a trim. Couch or floor. Telly or youtube. Soda or juice. Tea or hot chocolate. To leave or stay. Voice a thought or keep it in. Make a joke or be serious. Start a food fight or let things be. A tantrum or a cry. A designation or a name. Let silly doodles linger or wash them away.

It’s nothing groundbreaking in the grand scheme of things, choosing to keep rudimentary drawings on his skin for as long as they’ll last. Just like it’s nothing groundbreaking or revolutionary choosing to keep his beard instead of shaving it. Choosing to wear his hair long instead of cutting it. It’s nothing groundbreaking. But it’s _his_. It’s a choice that he, and he alone, has made about his own body and it feels like something important. A milestone. Another one anyway in an endless stream. Taking something back that they took from him even if he can’t remember them taking it, can’t remember ever having it for close to half his life. To have it now though, the choice, overwhelming as it still might be sometimes in its potential, it’s a feeling he can’t describe but never wants to let go of.

It’s the freedom to love, to laugh, to live.

To be with Liam. To be with family, friends.

To be _himself_. To be Zayn.

It’s something he’s willing to fight for till his last breath, not because he was ordered to or made to but because he _chooses_ to, because without it—without the freedom to choose—he isn’t himself anymore. Having a choice, freedom, that’s something to fight for. Something that makes him human. And love. He’ll fight for that too. If he has to. If it comes to that.

He’ll fight to be Zayn, and for everything that comes with that, because no matter what happens he’s never giving that up again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *because Twelve has no filter when it comes to controlling his thirst, but neither does the real-life Zayn so it's true to form really lol
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> [judge judy meme in case you haven’t seen it](https://media.giphy.com/media/z0gGWxRPcHNuM/giphy.gif)
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> hope you enjoyed all the cutesy domestic shit and the ~~porn~~ smutty moments! they deserve it and so do you cause we’re almost at the end (home stretch!) and it’s been a long ( _long, long, long, long, long, insanely long_ ) time coming lol :P
> 
> side note: it was so weird even for me getting used to typing zayn for him instead of twelve. i kept accidentally typing twelve and then not even realizing it until i went back and read over the sentences i’d just wrote and was like dammit i just wrote twelve like three times in this paragraph lmao smh. also that park group date will probably be included in a deleted scene btw
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> **also one more quick note to avoid confusion - some of you might recall in the beginning that twelve’s unofficial rank was originally quoted as being fourteen but I decided to change it to fifteen cause I just felt it was more in line with the whole sets of five and ten thing going on (any past refereneces have also been changed retroactively for future readers)**
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> as always comments and kudos give me life so hit that kudos and/or comment button to let me know what you thought and see you all next week for Le Final Chapter!!! :)


	45. ~ Fin ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter was pretty much like 90% written basically since the beginning because i always knew this was kind of the direction i wanted to head in with things, i just wasn’t quite sure if this was how i wanted to end it (or if it should just be some kind of interlude in the middle of a much longer story) when i knew there was still so much story to tell buuuut that’s what sequels are for! which it took me way longer than it should’ve to realize that that was the best way to do this so that **_this_** story can come full circle and the next one can start anew with new conflicts and challenges so. with that said, onto the final installment of what has turned to into a whirlwind ridiculous monstrosity of a fic, and if you’re satisfied with where this has gone and where you’ll soon see it’s going to go (once you get through this final chappie, although if you’ve checked the [twelve fic tag](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/twelve-fic) recently then you kind of already have a bit of a hint re that lol) then i hope to see you all on the next part of this never-ending journey in the comments of the sequel, i’ll be looking out for familiar names and ~~faces~~ icons…but in the meantime hope you enjoy and come join me in the end notes for more screaming and emotional word vomit when you’re done :)
> 
> ( **also hope you all have been paying attention to the[timeline](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166478480328/twelve-fic-timeline) cause that comes into play a bit here, and make sure to play close attention to the server names as you read** )

_Program Server_

**25 June 2016, 1304 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Housecleaning

Message: All remaining in-field operatives—able to be immediately located—terminated. Requesting further instruction.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**25 June 2016, 1306 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Reconnaissance

Message: Begin reconnaissance on remaining MIA in-field operatives. Contact Chief Researcher for further assistance.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**25 June 2016, 1309 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 3, Relocation Base A

Re: Information Request

Message: Requesting information on remaining MIA in-field operatives—designations, base of origin, and physical descriptions.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**25 June 2016, 1312 hours**

From: Server 3, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Information Request

Message: Access to remaining program profiles has been granted to all members of your team. You will find all requested information from intact iteration two bases listed there. The profiles of all operatives from the following iteration two bases remaining MIA could not be located and have likely been destroyed:

  * Bunker 1
  * Bunker 2
  * Bunker 4
  * Bunker 6



A compiled list of all known operatives from the aforementioned bases and their current status (terminated, reassigned, KIA, MIA, etc.) has been attached. If further information is needed, please extend correspondence.

– Head Program Researcher

 

**18 August 2016, 1142 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Housecleaning Update

Message: All remaining MIA operatives from Bunkers 3 and 5 located and terminated.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**12 September 2016, 2032 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 3, Relocation Base A

Re: Information Request

Message: Requesting any remaining information on MIA operatives from Bunker 6—designations, base of origin, physical descriptions, or general information.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**13 September 2016, 0815 hours**

From: Server 3, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Information Request

Message: Enclosed you will find a copy of partially recovered notes from one of the lower Doctors formerly employed at the base in question, compiled by my team and grouped by operative designation. Included are partial physical descriptions and references to identifying scars and marks of some of the now MIA operatives. Also included are two partially destroyed maps recovered from the operative teams’ barracks. This should aid you in narrowing down potential locations. Remaining information on Bunkers 1, 2, and 4 is forthcoming.

– Head Program Researcher

 

**5 December 2016, 0850 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Housecleaning Update

Message: All remaining MIA operatives from Bunker 6 located and terminated.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**28 January 2017, 1634 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Housecleaning Update

Message: All remaining MIA operatives from Bunkers 2 and 4 located. Status confirmed. One KIA by civilian target. Three terminated by dehydration and malnutrition. Remaining two terminated by TAC Team.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**10 February 2017, 2248 hours**

From: Server 3, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Urgent Warning

Message: Recent discoveries made among previously uninvestigated files suggest one of the three remaining MIA operatives from Bunker 1 is an expertly skilled, high-level operative. He is therefore **not** to be terminated. However, attempts to locate him may prove extremely difficult or even unsuccessful. It is unclear whether code words will suffice for retrieval as the sparse records found so far also indicate a propensity for insubordination and noncompliance. Extreme caution and preparation is recommended in locating the operative assigned the designation of Twelve.

– Head Program Researcher

 

**11 February 2017, 0702 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 3, Relocation Base A

Re: Information Request

Message: Requesting further information on operative Twelve—program history, rank, and last known location, if possible. Also, recommendation on method of retrieval. Please advise.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**11 February 2017, 0908 hours**

From: Server 3, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Information Request

Message: My team and I are currently working to compile a report, however information on the operative in question is scarce and extensive research is required. Information is still being recovered and organized. In the interim your team has been granted access to the program’s tap on security cameras country-wide as well as the program’s facial recognition database in the event that we recover any kind of photographical records, partial or otherwise, or an account of a physical description in our research. As you may already be aware, a team of remaining Handlers and operatives has also been sent out to all currently known locations of the operative’s past missions to monitor for any suspicious individuals or activity. If and when they locate him, they have been advised to proceed with caution and take time to plan out a careful and methodical retrieval mission, as should you and your team if you locate him. Please stay abreast of any further correspondence or updates from myself or any Handlers from Base A as well as your own base.

– Head Program Researcher

 

**6 March 2017, 1104 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Status Update – Housecleaning

Message: Requesting status update on Operation Clean House.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**6 March 2017, 1126 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Status Update – Housecleaning

Message: Two of three remaining MIA operatives from Bunker 1 located. Status confirmed. One terminated by dehydration and malnutrition. One terminated by TAC Team. Location of final remaining MIA operative still unknown. Awaiting further information from Head Program Researcher and in-field reconnaissance teams.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**2 April 2017**

**Memo**

To: All TAC Team Agents; All Handlers at Relocation Bases A & C

From: Research Team

Re: Compiled Report on Last Remaining MIA Operative

 

Operative Designation: Twelve

Program Iteration Origin: Two

Current Status: Unknown (MIA)

Last Known Location: Bunker 1

Current Location: Unknown

Official Rank: 10

Unofficial Rank: 15

Last Known Associates: Handler A, Handler D

 

Handler Designation: A

Last Known [Official] Location: Bunker 1

Official Status: Terminated

Unofficial Status: In Stasis

Current Official Location: St. James Cemetery

Current Unofficial Location: Relocation Base B

 

Handler Designation: D

Current Status: Unknown

Last Known Location: Bunker 1

Current Location: Unknown

 

**Program History:**

Inducted into the second iteration of the program at age twelve, the operative known as Twelve has proven to be a rather unique case. Early reports suggest the operative showed a streak of rebellion, noting an uncooperative disposition that proved at first very difficult to tame. It should be noted that the previous Director’s initial private reports use such terms as _defiant_ , _disobedient_ , _disruptive_ , _uncooperative_ , _noncompliant_ , and _insubordinate_ in reference to the operative in question.

Later reports suggest, however, that any such inclinations had been extinguished by the time the operative reached his third year of training, after a number of extensive discipline sessions. By this time he had even begun to surpass others in his cohort by displaying immense skill and mastery over his physical abilities and an exceptionally steadfast sense of obedience with respect to program protocols and his duties as an operative. The operative’s superior skill and expertise in combat, demonstrated in assessments as well as on missions, allowed him to move up the ranks quickly, again surpassing many in his initial cohort to the highest official ranking level for operatives—Level 10*—after only six years in the program, and the highest ranking team in the second iteration of the program—Alpha Team.

 

*It should be noted that on average most operatives do not reach this level until their ninth or tenth year in the program. The aforementioned operative is one of two exceptional cases, the only other exception being operative Twenty-two (one of the only remaining operatives from the first iteration of the program) who was able to reach this level after eight years. It should also be noted that the operative Twelve currently also ranks at the highest unofficial ranking level for operatives at Level 15, which according to the previous Director’s most recent private reports made prior to his death, had not been achieved by any other operative in any iteration of the program thus far (please see attached report on official and unofficial ranking systems for further clarification).

**Recommendation:**

A highly skilled and powerful asset, the operative designated as Twelve should be approached with the most extreme caution and discretion, utilizing the most skilled operatives currently under your charge and/or the most skilled TAC agents on your team. Furthermore, taking into account the possibility that the operative may have reverted to previous habits of disobedience and insubordination while outside of the program’s influence, a comprehensive reintegration process may also be necessary. Please be advised that, if located, the first attempt at retrieval may fail and multiple attempts may be required to achieve completion of this mission. Please also be advised that this mission very likely will result in the termination of some of the most skilled operatives currently in your custody and/or the most skilled agents on your team. Plan accordingly.

Good luck and Godspeed.

 

**16 May 2017, 0929 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Status Update – Housecleaning

Message: Requesting status update on Operation Clean House.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**16 May 2017, 0936 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Status Update – Housecleaning

Message: Status has not changed.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**8 August 2017, 1652 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Status Update – Housecleaning

Message: Requesting status update on Operation Clean House.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**8 August 2017, 1742 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Status Update – Housecleaning

Message: Status has not changed.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**12 November 2017, 1203 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Status Update – Housecleaning

Message: Requesting status update on Operation Clean House.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**12 November 2017, 1218 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Status Update – Housecleaning

Message: Status has not changed.

– TAC Team Agent A

 

**30 January 2018, 1330 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Operative Twelve located. Partial facial recognition match from security camera footage and sightings by follow-up reconnaissance scouts confirm general potential location. Base A and C Handlers briefed. Mission is set. Retrieval mission will commence at 1800 hours on 2 February.

– TAC Team Agent A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOT!!!!!!! WE DID IT Y’ALL!!! WE FINALLY MADE IT TO THE END OF THIS RIDICULOUS THING CAN YOU BELIEVE IT??? CAUSE I FOR ONE CANNOT!!!! Wow this has been crazy! Thank you all SO much for joining me on this journey! You all have been lovely and I sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it (at times anyway lol). This fic has somehow managed to span nearly two years, 200,000 words, and 575 pages and it has been a wild ride indeed. Thank you so much for riding it with me and again, I hope to see some of you on the next part of this journey [the first two chapters of which have already been posted](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13626657/chapters/31289529) (yay!!!) 
> 
> But firstly I want to thank each and every one of you that has left kudos and especially comments on and/or raved about this fic on tumblr, everyone who’s given me any kind of feedback whether it was an anonymous message in my ask box or a dm or an internal-screaming-keyboard-smashing late night tag rant or a rec post or fan art (here’s looking at you [ziamflowers](https://ziamflowers.tumblr.com)! you keep being awesome, h.a.g.s. and don’t ever change! yes i took it back to middle school yearbook messages don’t judge me) or a really long, thought out comment here on ao3. you all have been absolutely amazing and so supportive and words cannot express how much i appreciate all of it and all of you! of course i have to give a special shoutout to [doveziam](https://doveziam.tumblr.com) not only for her amazing comments/suggestions/boost posts and work on the [ super awesome moodboard](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166915995788/presenting-the-twelve-fic-moodboard) and [twelve-inspired manip](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166916517043/twelve-silence) but also for holding my hand and helping me through some particularly tough moments in this fic where i got stuck and just didn’t know what to do, you’re the best babe! and i’ve also got to give a special shoutout to my bestie ash-kosh who’s not even in this fandom (or any fandom for that matter) but let me bounce ideas off her at the randomest of times and kept me flowing whenever I was on the fence about a scene or feeling unmotivated, and another special shoutout to ashthegun (who i don’t think ever left that long comment like she promised…ashley gurllll. i. see. you. meet me outside at 3 o’clock lol jk) thank you for being an amazing cheerleader and letting me rant about this fic and others and ziam in general even when it was like 1 in the morning and imessage was acting like some booty and being stupid randomly spazzing out because it didn’t want us to be friends for some reason. okay i think that’s it for the thank you’s, hope i didn’t leave anyone out (but if i did, know that i still love you, i’m just super forgetful soz)!
> 
> Btw in case you missed it somehow in one of my many previous end note rants, [tumblr is here](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com). [Fic inspo tag is here](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/twelve-fic-inspo) and [here you can find the general fic tag](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/twelve-fic) with any updates (on side drabbles in this verse or art or possible playlists or what’s going on with the sequel or my writing/thought process for the fic or anything about this fic in general).
> 
> If you ever have any questions about anything to do with this universe, this fic or the sequel no matter how random—like how they dealt with dental hygiene in the bunker or what the name of the operative that got their arm broken by twelve was or what flavor popsicle waliyha was eating when liam was riding by on his bike like a “crepe,” etc.—or really just just anything at all under the sun even if it has nothing to do with anything, my inbox is always open!
> 
> If you can spare a bit of change for a struggling writer you can buy me a cup of tea [here](http://ko-fi.com/yasmine) (cause i don’t actually like coffee lol) :P
> 
> And as always comments and kudos feed my soul (and also money, that too lol)! See y’all soon and much love from me to each and every one of you!!! <3 <3 <3


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